Fallout
by kittsbud
Summary: Dean and Sam investigate the link between a legendary spirit and mysterious creature - a link that leads them into the Rockies and extreme danger. A danger that could change the course of history forever. Can they stop what is about to happen? T for gore.
1. Chapter 1

**Fallout Part One**

_ "Fallout - the adverse results of a situation or action"_

_**West of Fairplay, Colorado**_

_**5.45pm**_

The sunlight had quickly faded until the only illumination on the wooded backroad were the beams from Dale Mee's semi.

Not that Dale minded the darkness, in fact, he kind of liked the solitariness of it.

After twenty years of being a trucker, loneliness had often become his friend. And if he did get bored, well, there was always the CB or the radio to keep him wide awake.

He checked the dash clock and smiled. He had to be in Colorado Springs by the next day, but the way he drove, there would be time for that and plenty of wine, women and song too.

Maybe he'd even get himself into a brawl, just for the heck of it.

Of course, most of his fighting trucker buddies thought he was some hard-nosed ex-marine with an attitude. His tattoos helped with that impression.

The truth, though, was a little less action-hero and a lot more former rowdy biker with a rap sheet.

Dale brushed a hand across his long, greying beard checking out his facial hair in the truck's side mirror. Marlene, his long-time girl said he was starting to look like a freaking Yeti.

_Yeah, right, I was thinkin' more ZZ Top myself… _

Dale realized he was heading for a hairpin bend and tapped the rig's brakes, dropping the Mack down a gear. The truck grunted, but complied, thundering around the curve, air horn's blaring just enough to make Dale feel good.

There wasn't another soul on the road, probably wouldn't be until early morning now, so the trucker got to play God of the boonies.

Dale chuckled and then noticed something flash in the woods up ahead like a camera. There was a silhouette near the treeline too, but it was indistinct.

_Some stupid sonofabitch hiker or tourist taking wildlife photos, maybe?_

As his truck grew closer, the shape in the gloom moved, but far faster than Dale had expected.

One minute it was in the Colorado undergrowth, the next, it was smack bang in the middle of the road in front of him.

Impulsively, Dale slammed his boot on the semi's brakes, feeling the trailer behind him slew wildly like his unit was going to Jackknife.

Somehow, he kept it under control, even though his eyes were glued to the thing in front of him.

It wasn't a man.

And it wasn't an animal.

Dale thought he saw clothing, but he couldn't be sure, because there was also fur, and claws and…

And the most disfigured, gnarled features of any creature he'd ever seen in nature or the movies.

_The stories on the radio about local Bigfoot attacks..?_ Dale's mind was screaming at him that there was no Bigfoot. His mind was screaming that this was a trick of light – a strange angle catching a bear and distorting the image his tired eyes were picking up.

But way down, Dale's deeper subconscious was yelling another desperate message.

_Don't stop! Just don't freaking stop, or you're as dead as all those other poor wusses on the friggin' news! _

Dale Mee lifted his boot from the truck's brakes and slammed the gas to the floor.

The thing in the road didn't look surprised, and it didn't attempt to escape the oncoming storm.

Instead, it just stared at the trucker, pained, dark eyes boring into Dale until he had to look away for a split second. The eyes looked so human, so tortured, but the mangled mass of fur, claws and sinew couldn't be a person.

Dale doubted man had ever looked so gruesome, even back when he was plain old _Captain Caveman._

As he took his eyes from the road, Dale expected to feel the jarring crunch of bone and flesh on metal as his rig rammed the being. He'd felt it time and again before when he'd hit deer or some other woodland creature.

It wasn't a sensation he was proud of, and even when it was local fauna he was obliterating the ex-biker felt remorse.

But not tonight.

Some part of Dale actually wanted to kill the creature.

And yet he didn't.

The semi ploughed on into the night without a single judder or vibration. There was no indication he'd hit, or harmed anything.

Not trusting his own senses, Dale checked the huge side mirrors on the rig, but it was too dark to see if there was any roadkill back on the blacktop.

He looked down, realizing his hands were shaking on the wheel.

Dale Mee was scared, and that just _didn't_ happen.

He let off the gas, just a little, noting the truck was still swinging slightly from his high speed maneuvers.

_I need a drink. Hell, no, I need two! _

The trucker wiped his sweating brow with the back of his grimy shirt sleeve and wondered if he dare tell anyone what he'd seen.

There had been deaths lately, rumours of something unholy out in the Rockies, but was he just letting the wild talk get to him?

Dale suddenly felt cold and told himself it was just nerves. He reached out to flick on the heaters, but something bumped on the back of the cab, taking his attention.

The noise came again like a steady knocking.

_Maybe something's come loose with all the suddenly braking and accelerating? _

But that wasn't what his mind was really thinking.

_You didn't see it in the damn mirrors because it wasn't in the road anymore…_

The thumping noise's direction changed.

It was above him now, taunting him with its presence.

_You're imagining it, you dumbass! _

Nevertheless, he reached down for the .45 he had stashed under his seat.

Dale's hand never reached the weapon.

A war whoop from on top of the cab culminated in some huge form swinging through the side window of the truck.

Dale felt the massive creature's weight slam him almost over into the passenger seat.

His foot pressed helplessly against the gas without anyone actually having control of the steering anymore and the Mack fishtailed madly across the road.

It hit one of the many potholes that littered the asphalt and the angle was too much for the already wildly slewing vehicle.

The truck rolled first, its trailer trying to follow but eventually snapping off at the hitch pin and grinding to a halt after leaving two large grooves in the road surface.

Dale didn't see it happen.

He couldn't, because inside the bouncing cab, the creature had already plucked out his eyes, squishing the juice from them between its malformed fingers like it was crushing grapes.

Dale tried to scream, tried to reach for the CB radio, but the being on top of him was smart enough not to let either event happen.

It grabbed his wrist, snapping it back until the bone in Dale's forearm shattered.

Next, it tore out the trucker's throat with its claws for good measure, blood spurting across the already smashed windshield like graffiti being sprayed from a can.

But none of these actions were by chance.

None were simply about self-preservation or the need to feed.

These were the actions of a sentient creature.

All-be-it an insane one.

When Dale had been reduced to a bloodied pile of remains, entrails leaking from the Mack's cab door, the creature finally calmed enough to reach over and turn of the ignition.

The engine died, and the wheels eventually stopped whirling around in midair.

The thing grunted then whined as if some part of it actually now regretted what it had done.

It's feral and yet somehow emotion-filled eyes spotted a flag on the back of the cab. The stars and stripes that Dale had lied and bragged he'd fought to protect.

The creature had no knowledge of why the flag was here, but the colors, the stars seemed to aggravate it again and it tore at the silk, tearing elongated claw marks through the banner until there was little left, like Dale.

It roared, jumping from the cab and vanishing into the Colorado mountain wilderness.

And tomorrow, the legend would grow.

_**Disused Trailer Park**_

_**Laramie, Wyoming **_

_**11.56pm **_

The rain wasn't hard on the ancient RV's windows, but its pattering was enough of a distraction to make Sam Winchester watch the water globules trickle down the crazed glass pane and roll off into oblivion.

It wasn't that Sam was bored, per se, but there was only so much hiding out from demons, leviathans and other supernatural beings any person could take.

Sam and Dean hadn't had a decent hot meal in a few days, and they hadn't had a clean and comfortable bed in a lot more.

Their most recent "acquisition" was an abandoned Winnebago on a trailer park that hadn't operated in about thirty years.

The "Winnie" was cold at night, they had a bucket for a john and a rusted oil lamp to illuminate the scene.

A relative cornucopia of luxury trappings.

Dean was absently playing Solitaire, randomly tossing the cards onto the RV's decrepit table, while Sam was supposed to be keeping tabs on what Dick Roman was up to while the laptop battery still had any juice in it.

Right now, though, Sam was letting the damp, encumbering outside world envelope him. There was just something so hypnotic about the sound of rain on a trailer or RV's roof.

"Sammy, you gonna toss me a bag of those chips before "Mickey" the mouse over there finds them?"

Sam broke away from the window pane and looked in the direction his brother was pointing with the toe of his CAT boot.

Sure enough, there was a tiny rodent staring at them both as if they should give up some goodies.

Sam couldn't help but smile. After all they'd been through, there was something just so innocent about the mouse it wasn't even funny.

He lobbed Dean a bag of chips from the brown paper shopping bag he'd collected earlier. Then he focused back on the laptop. "Nothing new from Roman," he sighed. "At least not that he's bragging in the open about."

"Which probably means Dick has a whole lot going down," Dean concluded, munching down a mouthful of Texas Pete Hot Sauce flavor chips. "Anything else interesting, before I go stir crazy in this tin can?" He threw down the last of the cards and opened up a beer.

"Actually, maybe," Sam said almost cryptically as he browsed several sights in three different windows. "There have been several sightings of a ghostly woman hovering through an old ghost town down in Colorado."

Dean winced. "Sounds just about as mind-numbing as this place. Dude, I meant _real_ action, not some made up crap for tourists."

Sam's brow was creasing the more he read. "Seriously, Dean, this looks more than just locals drumming up some trade. Several different people have seen a woman clad in black at the old Buckskin Joe site just west of Fairplay. The woman doesn't speak, she just visits the graves in what would have been the old cemetery, then she shimmers and vanishes."

"So she's not freaking anybody out or trying to gank the natives?" Dean stuffed in some more chips. "Why would we waste our time on this when good old _Dick_ is out there trying to turn the human race the way of the dodo?"

"Because the woman fits the description of a local legend called Silver Heels," Sam elaborated, reading as he talked. "And because up until now her apparition hasn't coincided with any other supernatural event."

Dean stopped munching. "Up until now?" He mumbled through a mouthful of potato.

Sam edged forward, excited by the possibility of a gig involving a real myth again. It had been awhile since they'd had that pleasure. "The last couple of times she's been spotted, gruesome deaths in the surrounding areas have followed. It's like she's some portent, or maybe even catalyst."

"Okay, so let's hear more about the so called gruesome deaths." Dean moved across to sit next to his brother, searching the laptop windows for pictures from Fairplay.

"Well, it looks like the last one happened just a few hours ago." Sam opened up the news flash item he was reading into a full screen. There were a few blurred images of an overturned truck with a Park County sheriff's department cruiser sat either side it, lights whirling. "The driver was found eviscerated. Bite marks, claw marks everywhere."

"Wild animal?" Dean tried to rationalize.

"Well, something climbed onto the truck and smashed through the side window to get to this guy. Not exactly bear behaviour," Sam pondered. "Not any kind of wild animal behaviour I know. And get this, his eyeballs were ripped out and popped like peas from a pod."

Dean grunted. "Eww, somebody's been watching way too much _Jeepers Creepers_." He composed himself. "And the other vics? How'd they buy it?"

"All torn to shreds like this guy." Sam opened up another image. "The locals are saying they have a Bigfoot on their hands. One even caught this photo after the first killing." He turned the laptop so his brother could get a full view.

The image was fuzzy, but clear enough to make out the thing was no bear.

Dean rubbed at his stubble. "Man, you know that is _so_ not Bigfoot, right?"

"Agreed," Sam nodded "But it's also not a wild animal, it's not human and it's like no other supernatural creature we've encountered. Not even a Wendigo."

"Could be a guy in a suit." Dean took the last slug of beer and crushed the can in his hand. "Some people will do anything for money."

"C'mon, Dean, wearing a bear outfit is one thing, killing _five people_ – no, not just killing, dismembering, that's whacked, even by our standards."

Sam pushed up from the moth-eaten seat he was on and began rummaging through another paper bag until he found a can of beans. There was no way to cook them, so it was either cold or share some of his sibling's infamous Texas Pete Sauce chips.

Sam took the beans, flopping back down as he yanked on the ring-pull.

Dean grimaced playfully. "Aww dude, poor old Mickey is gonna be _**ass**_-phyxiated if you chow down on those things."

Sam ignored him. "Look Dean, I figure this thing appearing has to be connected to the "Silver Heels" apparition, I just can't figure out the how or why. The locals are panicking and rumors and reports of Yetis and Sasquatch are rife. That's gonna bring in more tourists for this monster to feed on if we don't do something."

"Sammy, if we go out there the only Sasquatch in town will be you." Dean didn't sound swayed. "So, basically, you wanna put our asses on the line hunting a creature whose origins we have no idea about, and who likes to chow down on white meat every other night. Oh, and its best buddy might be the spirit of some chick from cowboy land who likes to haunt old graveyards, but we don't know _why_ the hell she's suddenly hooked up with Mr. Longpiglover." Dean raised a brow and finally took a breath. "Did I miss something?"

Sam clipped the laptop shut and stuffed it in his holdall. "Yeah, you forgot to ask when we leave…"

_**Buckskin Joe**_

_**Frontier Ghost Town**_

_**Dusk…**_

Buckskin Joe, or rather what was left of it, wasn't anything like Dean had expected. A few of the old mill structures still remained, their wooden forms intertwined with the heavily treed landscape, but there were no other buildings left at all.

Anything that had actually survived from the original town had long since been removed to other attractions.

However, the one thing they needed was still here – the cemetery.

Unlike modern graveyards, the cemetery at Buckskin Joe was inset among the heavy foliage of the Rockies. Markers and tombstones were strewn everywhere under the coverage of the trees.

Some of the graves had ornate wooden fences around them that had stood the test of time and Mother Nature. Others had simple rocks and stones placed around them.

Some, as often seen in Hollywood movies were only marked by a plain wooden cross.

It was strange, and foreboding, even to a hunter as well seasoned as Dean.

"This place isn't exactly what I was expecting," he admitted, squinting through the pines and furs that encompassed their position. "I mean, graves actually _in _the woodland like this?"

Sam shrugged. "At least all this foliage gives us good cover."

"It's freakin' cold too!" Dean groused, eyeing the snow that covered some of the higher tree lines. "We could sit out here for days and see squat, you realize that?"

"At least we'll be harder to find for Dick's henchmen," Sam pointed out, only half-listening to his brother as his gaze scoured the cemetery in the dim light.

Dean huffed. Sitting in a cold graveyard waiting for a spook that probably was gonna be a no show was not his idea of a night out. And he certainly didn't feel any safer here from the leviathan than he would back at some nice warm motel room, or even the Impala's front bench seat. "Yeah well, I'd feel a whole lot better if I knew just what I was trying to gank. You got any more info on this Silver Heels chick we should know?"

"Plenty." Sam shifted slightly, the stone he was perched on apparently cold and wet against his jeans. "But I'm not sure if any of it is going to help."

"Well spill anyway, Sammy, because I'm already wishing I was back at our RV palace back in Wyoming."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Okay, so, Silver Heels was obviously not our spirit's real name. She was a beautiful dance hall girl that wooed the miners of Buckskin Joe nightly and they nicknamed her after the sparkling shoes she wore. When a smallpox epidemic hit the town in 1861, Silver Heels could have fled like many, but instead she stayed behind and tried to care for the sick."

"Regular Florence Nightingale, huh?"

"Yeah, except the legend says she eventually contracted the disease herself. She didn't die, but became horribly scarred. When some of the recovering miners went to thank her for all she'd done for the town, it's said she'd already vanished. Her cabin was empty and there was no sign of a body. A few years later, a heavily veiled woman was often seen taking flowers to the dead in the cemetery. Many believe it was Silver Heels come to pay her last respects."

"So, she freaked out when she saw herself in the mirror and shagged ass up into the mountains, huh? I can buy that. Chicks don't dig scars like us guys, huh?" Dean rubbed his hands together. He was getting colder as the evening went on, and he was yearning for something to eat already.

_Just not a Biggerson's burger…hell, not __**any**__ burger. _ His stomach grumbled at the thought of the grey goo that had oozed from his Tarducken slammer a few months back.

He pressed on with his questioning, trying to avoid thinking about it. "So when do we get to the part where Silver Heels is our kinda freak?"

"There have been reports of a black-clad, scarred woman wearing a veil here for years. She's said to bring flowers to the graves and to vanish into the mountain air if approached. It's only the last few nights, though, that her appearances have coincided with the creature attacks."

Dean stood up from his own rocky perch. There was only so much sitting he could do before he got fed up. "Well I'm not seeing squat. I figure we should split up. You take the left, I'll take the right, see if we can shake up our dance hall girl's tail feathers."

Sam nodded and drew a sawed-off shotgun from under his jacket. "Just remember she might not be alone, Dean."

The elder hunter huffed as he took off towards the nearest batch of graves. "Yeah, right, as if I'm gonna forget she has a buddy that likes to chow down on human butt like a freakin' Pac Man…"

The complaining continued as Dean melted into the oncoming night. "Not to mention, if this chick shows, we have no clue where the heck her bones are, so we can't exactly go salt and burn 'em unless you just invented a magic "dead-ass bone finder" while we were talking…"

Sam smiled and then took off in the opposite direction to his sibling.

…

Sam hadn't gone far when he felt something move slightly under his left foot. It was like stepping into a pile of manure, only gooier. "Aww crap…"

He looked down, expecting to see some kind of animal excrement, but instead it appeared to be the remains of something man-made.

What it had once been was a mystery, and would probably stay that way.

The thing was about the size of a small packing case, but it looked like it had been flattened and melted beyond recognition.

He kneeled, using his small penlight to examine the thing more closely.

Whatever it had been, it was now liquefied in most places, and in others it appeared to actually be part of the rocky surface it was situated on. Like the two items had become one.

Sam slipped a hand to his boot, retrieved a small hunting knife and pierced the "object." The blade slid in easily and came away covered in something akin to slime.

He cringed, wiping the knife on some nearby grass before sliding it back in his boot.

Using the penlight, he spun around on the spot, searching the woodland floor for any other strange anomalies, but there was nothing.

In his jacket pocket, he felt his phone vibrate silently and quickly checked the screen.

There was a message.

"_Sammy, get your ass to the mill's eleven o'clock, we got action!" _

Forgetting the bizarre gloop, Sam ran carefully through the graveyard to the back of the old wooden mill, watchful to avoid a watery old arrastra that had once been used here to extract ore.

He slowed as he reached Dean's position and took stock of what was going down.

Through the trees, he could see an uncanny apparition walking through the woodland towards the edge of the cemetery. It was a woman dressed all in black with a small bunch of recently picked mountain flowers in her right hand. She wore a veil, but Sam could see through it enough to note scars – lots of them.

This had to be Silver Heels.

Dean appeared from nowhere at his side, rock salt-filled shotgun in his hands. "Man, she's the strangest spirit I've ever seen. Look how the air around her seems to have an edge. Like she's some whacked out cut out from a photo. Hell, I don't know how to even explain what I'm seeing."

"It's like a weird aura," Sam agreed. "Like the air around her is actually shimmering and moving as she walks…"

Dean nodded. "But she's still not doing anything threatening, geekboy. Do we gank her ass anyway, or watch and see if the Pac Man appears?"

Sam considered it. They needed answers, but would following Silver Heels spirit give them any? "We follow her," he eventually decided. "There has to be some clue here. _Has_ to be…"

He readied his own weapon and took point, walking in the invisible tracks of the spirit. Dean brought up the rear, every few seconds spinning around, his gaze scouring the underbrush for any unwanted activity.

As they gave chase, Silver Heels slowed at one of the rock surrounded graves and kneeled, carefully placing her flowers. It was hard to tell because of the veil, but Sam thought she was crying.

Were these the actions of a spirit who worked with a cold-blooded killer? He was finding it hard to believe. Nevertheless, he kept his shotgun aimed at the woman's form, anyway.

A form that seemed to be more like a hologram than any ghost he'd ever encountered.

As Sam pondered the fact, Silver Heels finally turned as if she'd seen, or sensed them.

Dean lifted his sawed-off instinctively, and as the Silver Heels moved towards them, he quickly let off two shells straight at her torso.

The veiled woman didn't flinch, and her form didn't dissipate.

In fact, the shower of rock salt seemed to reach her "aura" and then simply vanish, like she had magicked it away.

Sam paused, watching for a second, trying to appraise what was going down. Then, he too let off a couple of shells at the girl, but like his brother's they hit the iridescent edge around her and were simply swallowed into some unknown abyss.

Meanwhile, Silver Heels expression didn't even seem to register their presence. She looked sad, emotional, perhaps even lost.

Silver Heels simply walked on, straight into the path of both bemused hunters.

The question now, was what she would do when she reached them?


	2. Chapter 2

**_Author's note: Thank you to everyone who has commented. You help fuel my fire! _**

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Silver Heels kept walking, not a fast gait, and not a slow one. She seemed to be in a world of her own, her eyes fixed to the ground, her face solemn.

It was more than Dean could take.

The hunter tossed his shotgun to his brother and retrieved another item from under his jacket – this time an iron bar. "This bitch is so going down!"

Instead of running from the apparition, as most people would do, Dean made a full frontal assault, charging Silver Heels, iron swinging high ready to swipe straight through her.

At the very last moment, her ghostly form shimmered and died, right in front of him, the bar in his hand simply slicing through the air where she'd walked.

The problem was, Silver Heels had vanished to a central point, like she'd been sucked into a void, way before the iron had touched her.

"Well I'll be..." Dean let the bar fall to his side and scratched a hand through his spiky hair.

"Not exactly regular spirit behaviour, is it?" Sam pondered.

"Nope," Dean agreed soberly. "And it doesn't get us any closer to the meat eating freak out here, either."

Sam looked around the woods that were now dark and all-consuming.

Was the creature out there, even now, watching them? Or had it already started another murderous rampage fuelled by Silver Heels appearance?

He feared the latter.

"Dean, we should go check out the police scanner in the car. We could have another killing on our hands before the night is through."

"And squat we can do about it," his brother bemoaned. "I hate gigs like this were there's no freakin' reason for what's going on." He looked at Sam and then grinned, patting his brother on the back. "I knew there was a reason I liked my geek side-kick along for the ride, though."

He shot a glance to the pale blue Dodge Challenger they were fast approaching through the trees. "Although I'd be a whole lot happier if said ride was my baby instead of that piece of junk."

Sam patted the roof of the car as he reached his door. "Hey, she's not that bad. Could be worse, you could be driving _a Ford,"_ he teased.

Dean groaned painfully and they both climbed inside.

After lobbing their shotguns under a blanket on the rear seat, Sam pulled a small police scanner from the glove box.

Switching it on, he quickly retuned to the local sheriff's department frequency and turned up the volume.

There was instant chatter, and both brothers looked at one another painfully, realizing they were already too late.

Dean fired up the Dodge's slightly rattling engine and spun it around, heading back for a more civilized patch of road. As he drove, he kept looking over to Sam for directions as the younger sibling listened more carefully to the deputies' reports.

Eventually, he switched the controls off, having heard all he needed. They had missed another death, maybe one they could have prevented, if only they'd known where to look.

He felt guilty, but then Sam always felt guilty, like he hadn't done enough.

Perhaps his time in Hell should have hardened him to the harsh realities around him, but it hadn't.

Under all that tough guy hunter's façade, Sam Winchester still had a soft side that on occasion made him nothing more than a huge teddy bear.

_Just not the suicidal life-sized teddy bear from Washington,_ he pondered to himself with a huff as he pulled up a map on his cell.

"Looks like we need to head back towards Fairplay," Sam finally explained with a sigh. "A local woman was snatched from her yard about an hour ago, maybe a little less. There's blood everywhere leading up into the mountains, but the cops haven't found a body yet."

Dean nodded. "I'm on it."

_**Beaver Creek Road**_

_**Fairplay, Colorado**_

_**Some time later…**_

The small wooden homestead Millie Mason had lived in wasn't anything to shout about. In fact, it looked so old it could have been here when some of the first settlers came to town.

Looks were, though, often deceiving, and inside the ramshackle-looking building was much more modern and up tempo than the exterior.

Not that it mattered anymore.

Millie had lived here alone with her cat, Spot, and while Spot had survived the latest attack without harm, his mistress most definitely had not.

A police tape circled the whole house and two Park County cop cars sat down the drive.

As he pulled up behind them, Dean noted as of yet, there was no meat wagon.

He took a fake I.D. that Sam handed to him and exited the Dodge with his usual swagger. Neither he nor Sam had changed into their regular F.B.I guises, but then suits were hardly practical where they were likely to be going next.

A deputy on guard held a hand up as the pair approached Millie's house, and his other palm hovered over his sidearm as if he was scared of what was going down. "I'm sorry, folks, this house is off limits to the press and public for the foreseeable future."

Sam flashed the cop his own, albeit fake badge. "Yeah, we know, we're here to help."

The deputy, whose nametag stated Floyd Westerman, squinted at the I.D. and then looked to Dean for his.

Dean sighed at the routine of "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours" but put up the F.B.I. badge his brother had given him anyway. "Any sign of the body yet?" He asked as the deputy finally lifted the tape for them to pass under.

"No…" Floyd scowled. "But then we're not calling this a death yet."

Dean kneeled as he met a thick trail of still drying blood on the path that led out back. "So what are you calling it? How to lose all your bodily fluids and live? Boy, Carson Daly would _just love_ you on his show."

Westerman licked his lips, obviously torn between actual anger and something else. "Millie was well liked around here," he eventually mumbled. "_Is_ well liked, I mean."

"Look, no one is saying there isn't a chance she's still alive," Sam tried to soothe. "But we have to face the facts that this has happened before recently. Like with the trucker Dale Mee?"

Floyd softened a little and exhaled as if the weight of the deaths were purely on his shoulders. "I was there that night. First on the scene," he explained. "I just can't imagine anything like that happening to little Millie."

Sam cleared his throat. "Can you tell us about it? What you found at the truck, I mean?"

Westerman winced at the idea of recounting what he'd seen. "All I know is Mee was torn to shreds, but it wasn't by any animal from around these parts. I've lived here all my life, seen just about all there is to see and…"

"This was buckets of crazy, right?" Dean prompted.

"Yeah," the cop admitted, but then hastily added. "But don't you go thinking of quoting me on any of that Bigfoot crap, because I don't buy that, either. There's an explanation here, we just have to find it."

"We're uh…not here to find Bigfoot." Dean smiled cheekily and added under his breath. "Just don't hold out for a rational explanation of what is going down anytime soon either…"

"Can I help you gents?" A new voice entered the conversation, and as Dean stood from his stooped position, he quickly saw the flash of a full-on sheriff's badge on the man's chest.

"The Bureau thought you could use a hand down here." Sam flashed his I.D. "We're trained specifically for this kind of case," he added as the cop scowled.

"And what kind of case would that be?" The Sheriff smirked a little, letting the brother's know he wasn't going to buy any bull.

Dean liked him instantly. He reminded the elder Winchester of Tom Skerritt, or at least the characters Skerritt often played.

"Unusual deaths." Sam tried to play the scene down.

The Sheriff smiled again and offered up his hand. "I'm Steven Grant, your friendly, local law-enforcement officer, and in this case all around discoverer of squat. We find what's left of the bodies, but there are never any real clues. I can't even tell you for sure if we're looking for an animal of a very cunning human killer."

Dean nodded towards the lightly snow-swathed woodland behind the house where the blood appeared to lead. "Have your men found any body parts?"

Floyd cringed but didn't argue this time that Millie might still be alive.

"Actually, I haven't sent any of my deputies in there yet," Grant admitted. "I figure I'd like to know what we're hunting before we put our asses on the line. I don't want my boys being the prey out here."

"And Millie?" Sam questioned.

"Look, son, I liked the girl as much as anyone else, but she's a casualty of this mess. She was long gone before my deputies arrived on scene."

"So we just leave the killer out there to strike again while you deliberate what comes next?" Dean understood the cop's reasoning, but sometimes you just could be too careful.

Grant put a hand on his hip and looked intently back at Dean. "Do you have a better idea?" From his expression, he wasn't expecting the answer he got next.

"You bet your ass I got a better idea. Me and my partner are gonna go take a look see in these woods. Maybe pick up the blood trail and whoop your killer's ass before bedtime." Dean smiled sarcastically. "Sound good?"

Sam pulled a face that suggested he thought Dean was giving just a little too much attitude. "Sir, with your permission we'd like to comb the area for clues."

Grant grunted. "Do Feds need my permission for _anything_?"

"Nope," Dean grumbled back, "but we're playing nice…" With that he winked roguishly and turned to head back to the Dodge to unload supplies from the trunk.

Sam joined him, amazed at his brother's sass. "We're you deliberately trying to piss him off?" He asked, stuffing a holdall full of hiking essentials and hunting gear.

"Nope, but things are moving way too slow around here. We need to act fast before this thing strikes again. And right now, the only lead we got on it is that blood trail."

Sam nodded. "And if we find the thing, how the hell are we planning on taking it out? 'Cause, y'know, last time I looked we had no plan and no solid information."

Dean grabbed a bag of peanut M&M's, silver bullets, silver blade, holy water, salt, a hex bag and everything else he could cram into his own rucksack. "I figure we hit this thing with everything we got and hope for the best."

Sam pinched the brow of his nose and screwed his eyes closed as if pondering just how nuts his brother was. "Our best plan is to basically wing it with a creature that's capable of ripping a man to shreds in minutes, with no remorse, no conscience and no apparent reasoning?"

Dean grinned as he retrieved his sawed-off from the rear seat. "I know, ain't it cool?"

_**Mountains North of Fairplay**_

_**Twenty minutes later… **_

The snow was starting to cover Sam's boots as he trudged through it. The light covering at Millie's house was soon growing into a much deeper layer as the brothers forged higher up into the mountains.

Not that Sam minded snow – in fact, in this case it was making their job a lot easier.

The blood trail from the murder scene was still quite clear to see in the beautiful white frosting that lay around them, but there was no sign of actual body parts.

Dean stopped and kneeled at the next splotch of red that had melted into the snow. "It's slowing down," he said quietly. "Maybe looking for somewhere to chow down on its supper."

Sam automatically looked skywards into the mantel of trees that surrounded them. He'd seen all kinds of supernatural creatures use the leaves and foliage above as a hideaway.

Nothing stirred. Ironically, not even a bird could be heard twittering or flexing its feathers. It was like nature had abandoned this place.

Dean stood from his hunkered position and moved carefully over a fallen tree trunk. He sank into the snow the other side and appeared surprised when his foot stood on something strange and yielding.

He leaned over, parting the soft white fluff with the butt of his weapon to reveal what he'd trodden on.

"What the..?"

Sam joined him and examined the find.

It was a pile of goo that looked almost like ectoplasm, except in parts, there were pieces of metal protruding through that still retained solidity.

One segment actually looked like some kind of tubular shaft.

"I found something like this close to Buckskin Joe cemetery. This means the two cases are _definitely_ linked." Sam said.

Dean pulled a face as he retrieved his sawed-off's butt from the mess. "Yeah, well, it doesn't tell us what this crap is, and it doesn't tell us where our boy is hiding."

Sam didn't have an answer to either. The goo was new to the hunters, and he suspected it would be to _any_ hunter.

He considered scooping some up and taking it back to get analyzed, but somehow the thought of having to even carry the stuff repulsed him. Not to mention, touching whatever it was might be dangerous. From the appearance, some part of it may be corrosive.

"Sammy?"

Sam started as he realized he'd become almost fixated on the thing at his feet.

Coming to his senses, his gaze jerked quickly to Dean's position.

The elder Winchester had moved to their left slightly and now held his shotgun in a defensive position.

When their eyes met, Dean silently pointed to yet another fallen tree trunk in the distance. This one was much larger than the storm damaged fir he'd just traversed, and Sam guessed the tree had been a few hundred years old when it had succumbed.

He squinted at it, trying to spot what his brother obviously had. Then he grasped that it wasn't what Dean had _seen_ that had alerted him, but rather what he'd heard.

Sam's ears tried to filter out his own slightly rapid breaths and he was finally able to pick up on a low slurping sound. It was like someone sucking noisily on a popsicle.

He winced, knowing this was the creature "feeding" on some part of Millie.

Dean jerked a thumb, signaling he thought now was the time to make their move, and Sam gave him the thumbs up back in agreement. It might be a gore-fest behind the stump, but while Pac Man was eating, it was distracted enough for them to hopefully get the upper hand.

Sam took the left, while Dean took the right and they slowly moved in from each side in a classic pincer movement.

The problem with this kind of manoeuvre, Sam knew, was that this thing might be able to scent them. There really was no time for any better plan, though.

Sam stepped on a small twig and it snapped beneath his boot. He winced and stopped in his tracks, waiting to see if he'd been heard.

How could he have been so careless?

To his dismay, the thing behind the fallen tree seemed to have very acute ears.

It roared a strange half-yell, half-bark and spat out the bloody arm stump it was chewing on, diving into the woodland like a Tasmanian Devil.

Dean got a shot off at it, but missed by an arms length.

It liked the attention, though, and spun around, a new foe in mind.

Dean and the thing's eyes met for the first time.

"Man, you're the fugliest thing I've ever seen," Dean growled at it. "And I mean, _ever_."

The creature's neck kinked sideways like a curious dog's and the segments of body that actually had fur, bristled. It clenched its bizarre pseudo-hands as if unsure what to do next.

Sam answered the question for it, by letting it have both barrels of his Remington.

The salt, though, was having no effect.

Sam dropped the shotgun and was reaching for a hunting knife for close quarters combat, but the thing was fast on its feet – much faster than he'd expected.

It was as if seeing the blade had kindled something else in it. Something it knew and understood how to fight.

Before Sam realized what was happening, the creature had snapped his wrist back until the intense pain through his forearm forced him to drop the knife.

As soon as the blade thumped into the undergrowth, the creature rolled like a giant bear to retrieve it.

Sam was so shocked at its jungle warfare techniques that he didn't react at all.

"Sammy! Shag ass outta there_. NOW,_ dammit!" Dean was aiming with his .45 into the trees, but the beast was so fast, so_ agile_ despite its clunky, Frankenstein-like frame, he couldn't get a clear shot off at it.

His frantic voice galvanised Sam into action, though, and the younger Winchester made a mad dash for freedom, hurtling himself over the tree trunk where the creature had hidden only moments earlier.

As he landed, he skidded in a fiery red pool of what had once been Minnie's entrails and stumbled flat on his face.

As his nose sank into something warm and fleshy, Sam recoiled, repulsed by what he was lying in. His hands slipped in the torn wet flesh, and all he could think was that this would soon be how he looked if he didn't haul ass.

Sam heard the thundering sound of the creature approaching, wildly swatting the undergrowth out of its way. Then, suddenly, the thrashing stopped as several shots reverberated through the woodland, some whizzing over his head and thunking into a nearby fir.

There was another roar from the creature as if it was even angrier now and its thrashing changed direction.

More shots, and at last Sam was able to pull himself free from Millie's tattered corpse enough to scramble over the fallen tree.

He stopped dead as his eyes met what was going down only a few feet away.

The thing had somehow removed the Colt from Dean's grasp and had pinned him up against an ageing pine by his throat. It held him there, scrutinizing him.

But the most curious, nay amazing thing of all was that it held the hunting knife it had stolen up to Dean's left eyeball as if it was a skilled woodsman, not a clumsy animal.

As if it had done their kind of work in another life.

The sight of the blade so close to his brother's eye terrified Sam, but he remained frozen to the spot, uncertain of what move he could make next without encouraging the creature to plunge the knife deep in his brother's skull.

The blade twisted left and right, and the furry hand that held it began to shake.

Sam dared to cautiously step a little closer, ever wary of spooking the thing.

As he neared it, he noticed more bizarre oddities in its appearance. The fur on its body wasn't evenly spread. It wasn't even all one length. It was a patchy mismatch, and in places there was even pink flesh showing.

Its limbs were odd too, like they had been drawn up by a four-year-old with a crayon.

And then there was something else…

Sam squinted, not believing what he was seeing.

But then the thing screamed again like a banshee and his attention was put back on Dean's life.

Dean gulped somehow as he saw his brother grow nearer, but he couldn't get any words out of his dangerously constricted throat. His eyes and face were reddening and he was wheezing just to draw down air.

But there was something else too, something Sam saw on his brother's face that made him step quietly to the left, so he had a side view of the monster and his sibling.

It was then that he saw what Dean had a bird's eye view of.

The temper struck creature's eyes were locked on Dean's and there was an understanding there.

A _recognition_ that was undeniable.

Somehow, this thing _knew_ Dean Winchester, even though their paths could never have crossed before.

It had identified the hunter from some memory stored deep down in its psyche.

Perhaps that was why it had deliberated instead of killing him instantly.

Now, though, that memory had passed and a more primal instinct had returned.

With an insane, gurgling war whoop the creature yanked back the arm it held the knife with, getting the best possible swing to thrust the serrated weapon into its foe and pluck out its favorite trophy.

Another eyeball.


	3. Chapter 3

**Fallout Part Three**

As the creature made its swing, Sam made a move of his own, snatching up his Beretta from his waistband and emptying a full clip at the beast.

He knew Dean had already taken several shots at it that had apparently had no effect, but he hoped at much closer range it would bring the thing down – or at least piss it off enough to make it turn on him and drop Dean.

The first two slugs tore into the creature's skull, exploding bone and brain matter all over the elder Winchester, but it didn't go down straight away.

Those strange eyes still had time to look at the hunter it held, was that pity Dean saw there?

More of Sam's bullets ripped into the thing, fur and sinew tearing and blood spurting over the local flora.

Finally, it fell, its weight causing a loud "thump" as it crashed into the snowy undergrowth.

Its grip released, Dean fell with it, slumping to the foot of the tree where he lay for a few seconds, panting and just looking at the thing. "Talk about if thine eye offend thee…"

"Pluck it out," Sam finished for him. "Man, _You_ know Matthew?"

Dean pulled a face and Sam joined him, rubbing at the forearm the monster had snapped back. It would be covered by blue-black bruises come morning, he was sure of it.

Not that it mattered. It was worth it to have stopped the murdering rampage of their foe.

But just what was the thing that now lay dying in the Rockies?

After what he'd seen only moments earlier, Sam had more of a clue than his brother.

"Sonofabitch knew me, Sam," Dean coughed, holding his aching throat. "I mean _really knew_ me. I could see the recognition in its eyes, the way its face changed when it got a good look at me…."

Sam took a couple of steps over to the creature. As he approached, it sucked down one long, last, lingering breath and then was still. He nudged it with his boot a couple of times, but it didn't stir.

Still wary of it, even in death, Sam hunkered over to double check what he thought his eyes had spotted. He wasn't wrong. "I'm not sure how this guy could have known us, Dean."

Dean balked. "_Guy?_ Are you kidding me? That's _a man_?" He clambered up, still holding his throat where red welts covered it. "You think we could be dealing with another Biggerson's type leviathan trial?"

Sam shook his head and edged back slightly so his brother could see exactly how he knew the bear creature had once been human. "Look, he's wearing some kind of uniform. I'm not sure I recognize the unit, but that's definitely a U.S. flag where the shoulder would have been. No wonder it moved like it had had some serious training."

"Kinda gives a whole new meaning to _Kung Fu Panda_ huh?" Dean looked closer to see a segment of green cloth actually half melted into the man's flesh/fur, just like the gooey items they'd found on the woodland floor. "Whoa, you think this might be some hinky government project gone wrong? Like in_ Watchers_ or something?"

Sam wasn't sure he liked that idea either. "If the military were behind this they'd have had a cleanup team out here by now and the reports on the killings would have been squashed before they got to the local news. Dean, I think this is something new, something we haven't seen before."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Ya think? So what now, Sasquatch?"

"Well, we have a soldier that looks like he's also half bear or something," Sam considered. "And we still have a spook that popped up every time we had a killing."

"And don't forget this guy knew me, or of me, somehow," Dean pointed out. "I'll never forget that look in those eyes."

Sam kneeled in the snow at the side of the heavily punctured body. "Okay, well let's just start at the beginning." He turned the bizarre cadaver and began frisking it.

Dean grinned. "Whoa Samantha, I didn't know you swung that way." He sniffed when Sam didn't bite. "So you actually think we can find something on this freak?"

Sam continued to work without answering, feeling under, even_ in_ the fur. Eventually, the latter paid dividends as he felt something hard under the man/thing's skin.

He reached down for his knife, then remembered he'd lost it in the fight.

Dean guessed what he needed and handed over his own notched blade.

Sam took it, carefully cutting a wide arc in the flesh until he'd made a flap. Blood oozed from the opening, but he ignored it and probed inside with his fingers.

Unbelievably, he found some of the man's uniform was partially inside him, like two life forms melded into one. He dug into the pocket he'd discovered and pulled out the item he'd felt.

It was a small device about the size of an average cell phone. When he touched it, the whole of one side illuminated into a screen that seemed to show the terrain around them.

There were odd numbers in one corner and some symbols he couldn't make out. It was high end technology, of that he was sure.

Dean whistled. "Whoa, some kind of tracking device, huh? So do we got another badass out here we need to gank?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know what it's picking up, but there's definitely a signal."

"That's good enough for me. C'mon, let's shag ass and see if we can find out what whacked out mojo is going down in these woods."

Sam looked at the beeping screen and then to the soldier's corpse. Something was so wrong here, he wasn't sure they had the power to correct it. "What about him?" He eventually asked. "Before all this he was someone's son. Maybe husband even. Shouldn't we at least bury him?"

Dean shook his head. "Later maybe, but for now, we need to find out if that beeping is one of his white meat chowing buddies." He walked over and picked up his Colt, wiping it clean on his jeans before stowing it in his waistband.

There was annoyance in the hunter's voice, and an urgency Sam understood all too well.

The creature's reaction to Dean had unnerved him.

He needed to know tonight what that reaction had meant, and why a U.S. soldier had turned into a monster that seemed to appear alongside a spirit.

The only problem was, Sam wasn't sure the answers would come easily.

And at what price?

He retrieved his hunting knife, backpack and the other items he'd dropped during the fray, then took point with the tiny black box tweeting in his hand as they forged through the snowbound trees.

…

The beeping device was annoying Dean. Well, no, it wasn't the device that was irritating, it was the high pitched sound that he found distracting.

And out here, any distraction could be deadly.

He tried to ignore it and began humming Deep Purple's _Smoke on the Water._

That lasted all of two bars before Sam gave him a look that said "Shut the hell up!"

Dean frowned, but for once did as he was told. There really was no point in alerting the enemy to their position with out of tune vocals, after all.

As if to agree, the tracker began to beep louder until the beep wasn't a beep at all, but a constant whine.

Sam stopped, stowed the device in his pocket and gave his Beretta his full attention.

They were approaching a small clearing and it would be a good place to get ambushed.

Dean wrapped his fingers around his Colt a little more tightly and forgot about heavy rock and distracting noises. This was the hunt, every smell, sight and sound could have a meaning.

Every reaction or lack thereof could be the difference between life and death for either brother.

There was a low, almost inaudible sound from the dell and both Winchesters locked onto it, their heads snapping right towards a particularly large fir.

Dean saw what they were after first, but he didn't fire off any shots. Instead, he just wanted to gag.

The Colt fell limp at his side and he had to hold the back of his hand over his mouth to quell the sickness welling in the pit of his stomach.

Sam saw what he had two seconds later.

"Aww man, you gotta be kidding me…" Sam turned away, apparently unable to even look at what they had been seeking. "This can't be real…"

"It's real," Dean choked. "Buckets of crazy real, but real…"

In the glade, the fir they had spotted seemed to move in the half-light. On closer inspection, it wasn't the tree that was shifting, though, it was the torso and head of a man that appeared to be melted into the trunk.

One arm hung free and wafted desperately in the air, the other limb had been absorbed totally by the fir. Segments of flesh appeared brown and bark-like, while others remained pink and human.

Whoever he had once been, the man appeared to wear the same uniform as the bear creature.

He seemed to sense Dean and Sam approach and moaned soft and low. "Help me…"

The cry came several gut-wrenching times before Dean could actually face the soldier.

He coughed, clearing the bile from his throat, then walked slowly up to the fir.

It didn't seem possible.

It _couldn't_ be possible.

How could a man be fused with a tree this way?

As he grew closer, the soldier's one good arm began to waft more frantically, urging him on. "Help me…kill me _PLEASE_…"

Sam eventually joined his brother, and found his voice first. "We'll try to help you. But you have to help us first. Who are you? How did this happen?" His voice was gruff, like it was hard to even talk.

Maybe it was shock at what he was seeing.

As always, Sam's timbre was still comforting, but Dean saw little reassurance that could be given. This kid had already bought the farm. He just didn't know it yet.

Or from his pleas, maybe he did.

The most hurtful thing was, he was so damn young. Barely old enough to be running around in a uniform, let alone getting his ass fried to a tree.

"Private…Cole, first class, sir…" Despite the agony the young soldier must have been in, he actually tried to salute Sam with his one arm. It shook wildly. "It's…it's an honour to meet you…"

Dean and Sam were both taken aback.

Dean's eyes narrowed. It was like the bear-thing's reaction all over again. "Wait a minute, you _know_ us?"

Cole screwed his eyes closed as if in great pain. He waited until the agony passed and then sucked down a long, tired breath. "Every hunt and destroy…unit knows of the Winchesters, sir…"

Dean was getting even more confused. "Hunt and _what_?"

Cole's eyelids fluttered and his eyes almost rolled back under them as he fought to stay conscious.

They were running out of time to question him.

Sam took back over. "You might know us, but we have no clue what's going on here. Can you just start at the beginning? What are you doing here and where are you from?"

The kid swallowed and seemed to spend a moment in deep thought. Eventually, he appeared to have a "light bulb" moment and his pain-ridden brain finally gathered what was going down.

Cole coughed, and this time bright red blood spurted from his lips. He spat it out, ignoring the small but steady flow that followed. "You're probably going to think I'm crazy…" he wheezed. "But I'm from the future. 2036, to be exact. I was sent back with two other soldiers to try and stop something…"

Dean and Sam looked at one another. After spending time with an angel, actual travel between different eras didn't seem all that far fetched any more.

"We err, we kinda believe you," Sam admitted. "We know time travel can be possible."

Cole huffed. "In theory, at any …rate," he wheezed. "In practice, as you can see, it's not so realistic. We knew there would be risks. Knew that if there was matter this side and the scientists got the co ordinates just a few degrees out…"

Dean grimaced. "If there isn't a clear space this end to materialize in, you kinda meld with whatever's there? Animal, vegetable or mineral?"

The young soldier tried to nod. "Or fir tree," he smiled ironically.

"Or big-ass bear." Dean shook his head and decided Cole needed to know the truth. "Look, we think one of your buddies kinda "landed" near a bear and melded with the thing. That's why we were out here." Dean tried to look apologetic, but it wasn't easy when you were talking to half a damn tree.

The kid didn't look surprised, more like deflated. "The sarge came through first. I'd hoped…hoped at least he'd make it to Cheyenne…"

Sam looked at his brother, then back to the soldier. He kneeled so his face was level with Cole's. The kid was getting weaker, and they still didn't know enough. "So your team came through from 2036, knowing you might die trying, but something so bad out here was worth the risk, and somehow you know us?"

Cole nodded. "In two days time a top secret biological weapon known only as "scalpel" will be transported to the Cheyenne mountain facility for storage. The place is supposed to be a backup provision only in this era, but it's so much more. At 22.43 local time, the weapon will be stolen and three days later released on the Eastern seaboard. The entire populations of fourteen states will be eradicated in less than twenty-four hours."

"Holy crap," Dean gawked. "You _seriously_ gotta be kidding me. What, we're talking Al-Qaeda or something?"

"No," Cole rasped. "Leviathan…" His eyes closed and his chin bobbed onto the trunk that was half his chest.

At first, Dean feared the kid had died without telling the whole story, but after a second, he gasped and blinked, his eyes bleary and unfocused, but still managing to stay alive.

"You _know_ about the Leviathan?" Sam looked shocked.

"We didn't, not until it was too late," Cole admitted. "But once the toxin was released, Dick Roman began to show his true colors. His people began to take over, to kill and feed on society while the panic ensued. Eventually, he takes complete control of over half the U.S. implementing "feeding camps" for his kind to use humans like Big Macs. Just a few of us remain outside his control, fighting back with the help of hunters like you…"

"I don't freakin' believe this. Not here, not now…" Dean kept shaking his head. "We got another runaway bus, and I'm tired of playing Keanu."

"So you guys tried to use unproven technology to make it back here and stop Dick's people getting the virus in the first place, but…"

"But we're screwed," Cole hacked. "I'm as good as dead, the sarge is gone… Even if the captain made it through okay, he could never take on the leviathan contingent alone." He laughed sardonically. "They do say you shouldn't try to change history…one path, no altering …destiny…"

Dean spun around, angry at having to see a young man die so horrifically, angry that Dick Roman was going to have the last laugh after all.

Angry that no matter how hard anyone tried, life seemed to veer back on a course straight to Armageddon.

Well, he wasn't having any of it.

"Maybe we can stop those things. Maybe if your captain made it…"

Sam winced and shot Dean a look that said it was impossible, but the elder hunter ignored it. Damned if he believed in anyone writing his fate but himself. And no way was _Dick_ going to win this.

Not after what these soldiers had gone through.

_Not after what Bobby had gone through…_

Dean's face screwed into a mask of pure hatred.

Dick Roman's boys were going down, if it was the last thing he and Sammy ever did.

He looked at Cole, a young man dying, needing comfort, needing to know all this hadn't been in vain.

Dean grasped the kid's flailing free hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "Listen to me kid, me and Sammy are gonna find your captain and take out those freaks, okay?"

And somehow, even though the soldier had never met him before today, Dean saw trust in Cole's eyes. "Yessir…" he smiled wanly. "Ventilate those sons of bitches and then some for me, huh?"

Dean tried to smile back, tried to look hopeful, but all he had left was anger and hate. "Count on it," he agreed.

Cole nodded and his head sagged again. When he looked back up, even his eyes had become bloodshot. "Would you…would you do one last thing for me, sir?" His hand reached longingly for Dean's Colt, and Dean didn't resist.

Removing the weapon from his waistband, he slid off the safety and placed the .45 carefully in the kid's one good hand.

Cole blinked and tried to lift the gun to his head, but he didn't even have the strength anymore to use it. He sighed and the fancy silver weapon slid from his trembling fingers.

Dean picked it up and looked down at it, knowing what would come next.

"Sir…"

Could he really shoot this kid in cold blood, dying or not?

"Don't ask me to do _that_. Anything but that." Dean couldn't look at Cole anymore, and he definitely couldn't look at Sam.

Cole coughed. "If you really are going to try and stop the leviathan, then killing me won't matter. Don't you see, if you succeed, the future will _change?_ I won't ever have been here, and you won't ever have to shoot me…"

Dean huffed. "That's crazy-assed logic, and you know it. What if Sammy and me don't pull this mission off?"

Cole laughed then. It was a totally unexpected chortle that reverberated through the trees and echoed throughout the mountains for several miles. "If you don't pull this off, then everyone dies anyway, sir…"

Dean felt a hand on his arm and he looked up to see Sam staring at him. Sam didn't want him to take the kid's life, no matter how much pain Cole was in, Dean knew that without any spoken words.

"Dean…"

"I have to, Sam. What else are we supposed to do, just leave him like this until some friggin' coyote comes along?"

Sam didn't answer.

And that was enough for Dean.

He sucked down a long, calming breath and then finally looked to Cole again.

Cole smiled and mouthed a last "thank you" before closing his eyes.

One solitary shot rang out through the trees, the vibration from the noise actually shifting light snow from the fir's branches.

Dean turned his back to the fir and swallowed hard. He stood there for awhile in silence until Sam eventually walked over and stood by his side.

The younger Winchester didn't mention Cole anymore, but looked solemnly down at the tracker he'd used earlier.

"Dean, I err, know you promised Cole we'd try and stop the leviathan, but honestly? _How?_ We have no way of knowing if the other soldier is still out there or is ground beef like Cole and the sergeant, and we definitely don't know how to find the bad guys before they reach Cheyenne."

"And there's no sign of soldier number three on the tracker?" Dean asked, sliding his gun back home in his belt.

"Nothing," Sam offered apologetically. "He's either out of range or mutated so badly it's not registering him as human anymore."

Dean dropped down on a boulder, ignoring the frosting of snow on it. "Then maybe we can track him old school, like dad and Bobby taught us instead of using fancy toys."

"Maybe," Sam conceded. "But what if we can't? Do we still try and stop Dick's people?"

Dean rubbed a hand across his chin in thought. "What about Silver Heels? Where does her spooky ass fit into all this? I mean, they were connected, I'm just damned if I can see how. Is there anything we can use from her appearances, geekboy?"

"You know, I've been thinking about that. What if Silver Heels isn't a spirit at all? What if the eighteen hundreds are actually bleeding through to now every time they tried to send a soldier or equipment through? Like some kind of time ripple or something." Sam's expression said he thought it was the only rational answer. "I mean, we both said she didn't look like any ghost we'd ever hunted."

Dean considered it. "That's one_ big_ maybe, Sammy, but if you're right, then that gives us squat to go on."

"Maybe we should just go back into town and think this through?" Sam raised a brow. "We can't just go full frontal on Cheyenne Mountain, you know that, right?"

Dean scowled. "We're screwed, yeah, I get it, Sam, but that doesn't mean I'm not gonna try anyway. After what those bastards did to Bobby, they're going down."

Sam stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and just stood in front of his brother. He didn't speak or make any suggestions. Probably because he already knew how things were going to play out.

After a moments silence, Dean pushed up from the boulder and looked over his shoulder at the fir tree, and at what was left of Cole's body. He didn't say anything, but he felt it.

He felt Roman laughing at them.

"So, I think we should try and track Cole's captain old school. If we haven't found anything in twenty-four hours, we regroup and consider our options. 'Cause I'm telling ya, Sammy, I'll take out the whole damn mountain to stop Roman if I have to."

Sam didn't question the idea. "Okay, so which way first?" His face suggested he thought they were barking mad to try and search the Rockies for one man, but he didn't voice it.

"North."

Sam nodded and tried to tweak the tracker to get a result as he began to walk. "Great. Any particular reason?"

"Yeah." Dean growled. "Because it's there."

….

_**Twenty-One Hours Later… **_

Sam was tired. No, not tired, exhausted. They'd taken one fifteen minute break in almost a day and had found nothing, but Dean just wouldn't quit.

Sam understood his brother's reasoning, but two shattered hunters weren't going to be able to do squat, let alone kill a few unstoppable leviathans.

And there it was.

The impossible task they'd been given and were stupid enough to take on without question.

There were so many how's and ifs to the whole shebang Sam's head was still spinning thinking about all the possibilities.

And then there was Dean's mood.

Taking Cole's life had been the tip of a much bigger iceberg and Sam knew it, but when his brother got like this there was no talking to him. It was something he had to work out on his own or die trying.

And seeing as Dick Roman's boys were involved, dying was definitely part of the stakes.

_Or maybe even being devoured,_ Sam pondered.

"Hey, Sam, over here."

Sam took his gaze from the still static tracker to see Dean beckoning from a crouched position in the snow.

As he drew close, he could see tracks in said snow that trailed off into the distance.

"Doesn't exactly look human," Sam offered up as he examined the marks.

"How about _injured_ human?" Dean debated, pointing to the imprints with his forefinger. "I was thinking maybe one foot being dragged, and this is something else being drawn through the snow behind, deforming the tracks even more."

Sam cocked his head and looked at the marks from another angle. Dean could be right. "Could that be a rifle butt he's dragging? Or maybe even using as a crutch?"

Dean appeared almost excited. "Let's just say I like that idea a whole lot better than the half man half freak that's the alternative." He stood up and quickly began following the trail until it seemed to come to an abrupt end. "What the..?"

While Dean whirled around, apparently annoyed that his quarry had vanished, Sam remained in hunter mode. Stowing the tracker in his pocket, he took out his Beretta as a precaution and carefully examined the tracks.

On thorough inspection, they hadn't actually ended – it was simply that their maker had stumbled off the path and down a vertical bank into a small hollow.

Sam pushed through a particularly prickly bush and then paused.

At the bottom of the ledge where he stood was a body lying prone in the snow. From here, it looked completely human, but there was blood pooling around it on the right side, seeping into the white carpeted floor at an alarming rate.

"Dean, over here!" It was only now that Sam realized his brother hadn't immediately followed him. "Dean!"

He waited, and after a moment heard the sounds of his brother thrashing through the prickles behind him.

Satisfied, Sam jumped off the outcropping where he stood and allowed himself to slide down the bank in a somewhat out of control fall.

He landed at the bottom with a grunt and quickly rolled to a safe position.

His eyes darted left and right, weapon at the ready, but the body hadn't moved, and no new threats had appeared.

Sam wiped soft slush from his face where he'd landed and felt the chill from the snow begin to send his hands a vicious red. He chided himself for not bringing gloves, but ignored the tingling in his extremities, instead focusing on the body.

The man looked to be in his mid to late thirties. He had dark hair and wore the same uniform as his two fallen comrades.

Sam could now see the soldiers were actually marines.

He kneeled, intending to check for a pulse when something stopped him.

Sam squinted, not believing his eyes.

He checked again, this time praying he was wrong, but he wasn't.

If Dean hadn't liked what had gone down already on this gig, he was going to go nuts when he saw this.

Could fate really be that cruel?

Sam heard Dean land in the snow behind him and grunt. Within seconds, the elder Winchester was at his brother's side.

Sam turned and looked up at him, eyes sad and apologetic. As if destiny hadn't kicked their asses enough, this was the ultimate kick in the jewels.

Dean recognized the expression of utter despondency for exactly what it was. "Sammy?" He frowned, eyes darkening.

"Dean…I..?"

Sam stopped, realizing he didn't even know how to tell his brother.


	4. Chapter 4

**Fallout Part Four**

**Author's Note: Many thanks for the reviews, everyone. I'd just like to take a second to wish you all a very Merry Christmas and to apologize if the next part is slightly later than usual due to the festivities! Thanks again! **

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"Is he dead, or what?" Dean was looking down on the soldier, oblivious to what Sam had spotted.

Sam took a millisecond to deliberate and decided now was not the time to go into details – and besides, he'd already become sidetracked enough not to focus on the task at hand – the soldier's life.

Sam tried to forget what he knew and instead felt for a pulse at the captain's neck. The throb of blood was there, strong, but rapid. He looked to the source of the blood next.

The scarlet carpet hadn't grown in size at the soldier's side, but the wound that had caused it was still oozing.

Sam winced as he looked closer and realized what had happened.

The marks they'd spotted in the snow had come from this man dragging his own weapon behind him. The reason he'd had to, was now apparent.

The futuristic rifle had been fused to the captain's hand, and in an act of desperation he'd apparently tried to tear it off.

The rifle now lay at his side in the pool of blood, sections of flesh, sinew, tendon and more still attached.

There wasn't much left of the soldier's right hand to speak of, and white bone was visible in some places around the knuckles.

"He's alive," Sam snapped, going into autopilot. "But we need to stop the bleeding and take care of his hand or…"

Dean was wincing as he appraised the gnarled stump of an appendage. "Man, can you even imagine having to try and rip off your own hand like that?"

Sam tied his belt around the soldier's arm to slow the bleeding and then pulled out a small first aid kit he always carried in his pack. There really wasn't anything in it to deal with something so garish, but he'd have to manage for now.

"No," Sam answered as he worked. "But then I can't imagine having my Beretta become part of my body, either. This is nuts."

Dean nodded. "You got that part right. So, is he gonna be okay?"

"Sam sighed. He wasn't a doctor, hell, he wasn't even a medic. "I don't know," he offered honestly. "Something like this needs a hospital. I think he'll be lucky if they save his forearm…"

Dean sucked down a breath. "Man, why does life keep throwing this crap at us? And by us, I mean the good guys, not just the Winchesters."

Sam gently wrapped the shredded right hand of the marine and as he worked, considered what should come next. Should he tell Dean now or wait for his brother to realize himself?

The soldier moaned as Sam tied off the bandage good and tight, but he didn't waken.

Maybe he wouldn't after all he'd been through.

Sam looked at his features – so tired, so weary for a man his age.

It was hard to believe the last time Sam had seen those features this soldier had been nothing more than a kid.

And that hadn't been all that long ago.

Sam bit his lip, hoping his next decision was the right one. "Dean, there's something you should know about this guy…"

"He's hurt too badly to help us, I know." Dean looked forlorn, like he'd already given up.

"No…" Sam dragged out the word. He only needed to say this once, but it was damn hard. In the end, he decided to let the soldier's uniform do the talking. "Dean, you need to check out the nametag here." He pointed to the embroidered moniker on the marine's chest.

Dean looked confused, but leaned over and read the surname and initial several times, letting it sink in.

"Captain B Braeden…"

"Dean, it's Ben, as he'll be twenty-five years from now." Sam didn't know how else to explain. It wasn't fair, hell it was madness that this could happen.

But then, sometimes fate wasn't even fate. Angels, demons, just about everyone manipulated destiny these days.

Dean whirled around at the revelation, unable to accept it. He held a hand to his mouth, obviously numb. "It can't be, Sammy. I made sure he didn't remember me, would never_ know_ me…"

"Maybe he was just meant to hunt?" Sam suggested.

"No friggin' way!" Dean was angry again. "I wanted him to have a_ normal_ life. Dammit I even had Cas alter their memories to make sure he didn't follow me in the family business. I wanted a _real_ life for Ben and his mom, not this crap!"

"We can't change what we are," Sam said quietly. "What we were born to be."

Dean opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again and slumped down onto a tree stump. "I loved him like he was my own, ya know." Dean watched the rise and fall of Ben's chest as he talked. "Dammit, I still do. But this is just too friggin' whacked to even begin to think about. Sometimes, I'd dream about hunting with him as he grew up. Then later I knew it wasn't right, it wasn't_ fair_, Sammy… "

"Maybe we should just get him to the nearest E.R. and worry about what comes next later," Sam suggested. "That hand is going to get infected, if it hasn't already and…"

"And I'll cope with it."

Dean and Sam's eyes snapped sideways, locking onto the captain – to Ben.

The officer looked bleary-eyed and very tired, but he was conscious and taking in everything around him.

Sam only hoped he hadn't taken in their conversation too.

"We don't have time for hospitals," Ben said, trying to shuffle into a sitting position. "And if you two are who I think you are, then maybe you already know why."

Sam glanced at his brother then continued. "I'm Sam Winchester, and this is my brother, Dean."

Ben nodded wearily. "We were taught all about you in training. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, sirs."

Dean waved a hand, apparently annoyed. "Firstly, you never call us sir, okay? It implies we're something we're not. Secondly, how come you were "taught" about us but never_ met_ us? What, are we_ dead_ in 2036?"

Ben smiled wanly, but seemingly had no intention of letting any cats out of any bags. "I'm not at liberty to discuss the future, si…Mr Winchester. It could alter the timeline again if you knew your own destiny."

Dean groaned. "_What?_ Do I look like friggin' Marty McFly here? Oh, and call me Dean, or I'll kick your ass, okay?"

Ben seemed to think about it. "Okay…"

Sam held out a hand and offered up a couple of painkillers. It was something the Winchesters did at least carry in abundance, given their profession. "You better take these, that hand has got to hurt like a bitch."

Ben nodded and didn't argue, swallowing the capsules dry. "So, how much do you know already?" He asked, looking from Dean to Sam.

"We know your two buddies got their asses fried coming through this time tunnel crap, and that the leviathan are about to kick mankind's butt back into the great beyond unless we stop them," Dean growled, obviously still angry at the game fate was playing.

The captain's head dropped slightly and he examined the bandage to his right hand, apparently pondering how lucky he'd actually been. From his demeanor, it was obvious he hadn't known for sure his comrades hadn't made it until now.

"We're sorry," Sam shook his head, trying to be apologetic. "If it's any consolation we've lost plenty of friends too in this job."

Ben's eyes took on a far away look. "I know," he whispered. "I've read all about them." He glanced up, breaking the moment. "We shouldn't let their sacrifices be in vain. We can still stop this, change the timeline, save so many…"

Dean huffed. "Dude, you're in no fit state to do anything. You probably can't even stand, let alone take on a leviathan."

Ben turned then, surprising both brothers with his fury – his _dedication_ at any cost.

"Don't judge my abilities so easily," he snapped. "You don't even _know_ me, so don't try and think or act for me, okay?" There was rage in his soul – a rage Sam had only seen before in the hearts of men who had lost everything.

A rage he'd seen only too well in his brother on occasion.

Then it hit Sam like a freight train, and he wasn't even sure he dare to ask the question.

Not in front of Dean.

And how could he anyway, without acknowledging to this man that he somehow knew him?

And yet, Sam needed to know suddenly.

"You've lost someone to the leviathan haven't you?"

Ben stumbled to his feet, teetering for a moment before using his good hand to steady himself on a nearby fir. He abruptly seemed more alive, more sprightly than Sam had thought possible after all he'd been through.

"Those bastards took my mother and used her for a meal, so yeah, this is personal, alright?" Spittle flew from his mouth as he whirled around, clearly wanting,_ needing_ to take out his anger on something.

In the end, he slumped down onto a boulder and held his head in his good hand.

Dean sat beside him, and after a few moments of silence decided to speak, evidently not caring what his comments did to the timeline. "Lisa didn't deserve that," he said soft and low. "But those toothy bastards will pay, I promise you that, Ben. Hell, _Dick _will pay, and it'll hurt, I'll make sure of that personally…"

Ben's head lifted and his eyes locked with Dean's. He didn't ask how the hunter knew his mother's name. Maybe he didn't even care.

"They'll pay alright," he said softly. "_We'll_ make sure of it."

Sam watched the exchange, unsure of how to interact with the two men who had lost so much. In the end, he opted for the only option he knew – the work ethic.

Sam cleared his throat, gaining both men's attention.

It seemed strange, Ben the little boy, now a man.

"Ahem, okay well…I hate to be the realist, but if we're still going to try and stop the Leviathan, we have some serious issues to deal with first. Like, how do we even recognize Dick's goons in the first place? They could look like anyone."

Ben's dark eyes twinkled. "We let them find us," he offered somewhat cryptically.

"We _do_?" Dean wore the confused look he did so well.

"My superiors knew the leviathan would access Cheyenne Mountain to steal the toxin, ergo, they're most likely to go in as soldiers. All we have to do is beat them to it."

Sam frowned. "Let me get this straight, you want us to break into a top secret military facility posing as soldiers and then what? Gank every other soldier who tries to go near the weapon?"

Ben appeared amused. "Something like that," he admitted. "Although we don't break in, we walk in dressed as officers."

Dean grunted. "Sammy, an officer? With hair like Shaggy outta _Scooby _friggin' _Doo_?"

Ben winced, sucking in air through his teeth. "Yeah," he said looking apologetically at Sam. "That mop might need to go before we go in."

Sam wasn't giving his hair up so easily. "Okay, so can someone tell me where we get three marine officers uniforms from, because we don't exactly have them in the car trunk, ya know? And I don't think I'm up to making three fake I.D.'s that would stand up to that kind of scrutiny, either."

"Relax," Ben smiled again, the expression reminding Sam of what this man had once been like as a kid. "I have the uniforms and paperwork covered. Three marines came through, remember? We all had fake uniforms and I.D.s sent with us. You can use the Sergeant and Cole's stuff."

"They survived the transfer?" Sam appeared surprised.

"Mostly," Ben admitted. "Although we're going to need to alter the photo badges, obviously. Are you up to it?"

Dean slapped Ben gently on the back. "I guess we'll find out, huh?"

Sam's deep brow furrowed as his mind went into overdrive.

Could they really pull this off?

What were the obstacles likely to be that they hadn't countered for?

"Won't the complex check our I.D. tags on a database? I mean, aren't those things digital nowadays?"

"Barcode, the works," Ben acknowledged. "That's why we need to get close enough to wirelessly upload the information before we actually go in. I have the software to do it intact, but my pad is royally screwed. I don't suppose you have your infamous laptop to hand?" he looked hopefully at Sam.

"Not here," Sam confessed. "But it's not too far away in the car trunk.

"So, basically, we need to hot foot it down the mountain, get my brother a haircut and pick up our laptop?" Dean asked, making it sound the easiest task in the world.

Ben sighed. He appeared tired again and his brow was covered in a thin line of perspiration. "We need to retrieve the equipment capsules that came through intact, too. Get the uniforms and all the stuff that didn't melt into the wilderness."

"Are you sure you can make it?" Dean's voice was gruff and filled with concern as he stared at the soldier, and it was obvious it didn't matter what Ben looked like now, Dean still saw the little kid he'd first met at a birthday party.

Ben huffed. "You just try and stop me, si…_Dean_."

Dean smiled wanly. "Okay, let's grab what we need and shag ass back to the piece of crap we're using as a ride right now. We can plan the rest from there."

Sam wanted to say plan the rest was an understatement, considering they had no idea what they were doing, or how they were going to kill, or at least stop the Leviathan.

But then it was easily apparent from Dean's behavior that all he was thinking about right now was Ben, and what had been done to his mom, Lisa.

Dean was living in the past, when right now it was the future that could kill him.

Sam offered Ben a hand up and the soldier gratefully took it, allowing the taller Winchester to take a lot of his weight as they began to trudge through the woodland back to the car.

As they walked, Sam sensed Ben keep looking at him. He had a question, of that there was no doubt.

Eventually, when they stopped for a breather, Ben turned to Sam his eyes ever-watchful for a reaction. "How did your brother know my mom's name?"

Sam kept a straight face, avoiding all emotion.

Now was not the time for admissions of past transgressions.

"I don't know," he lied. "Maybe when this is over you can ask him."

Ben seemed to have expected the answer. He nodded. "Yeah, maybe." He swallowed, obviously in great pain, then grinned, trying to mask the agony with mirth. "Hey, what did Dean mean about the car? We were taught you guys had a pretty retro Chevy?"

Sam smiled back. "A word of advice," he offered helpfully, "Did they teach you all about what a jackass my brother can be?"

Ben shook his head.

Sam nodded expecting as much. "Then don't mention the Impala right now unless you want to find out up close and personal…"

….

_**Six Hours Later…**_

_**Just off Beaver Creek Road**_

Ben had found the trip down the mountain much harder than he'd cared to admit. Struggling along with Sam taking most of his weight had been one thing, but once they'd recovered the uniforms and equipment he'd had no such luxury.

The weapons and gear had come in special crates through the time portal, but some of them had been damaged, or rather melted, so all the kit that was left had been put into one and Sam and Dean had carried it between them.

That had left Ben to his own devices, and there was no way he was admitting defeat and sitting on his ass when they needed to be moving.

They needed to be right on the Leviathans tails, so to speak.

So, every step had been a bone-wrenching struggle that had jarred his injured hand and made him want to pass out with the pain. The pills Sam had given him had taken the edge off of the agony for a little while, but it was back now, throbbing like his whole arm was on fire.

Ben didn't say anything, but trudged on, carefully placing one foot after another and making sure he didn't stagger or give Dean any reason to doubt him.

Because, Dean was watching him like a hawk.

The hunter had turned every few minutes to scrutinize the marine, his eyes telling a story Ben didn't understand.

But then, there was a lot about Dean Winchester that Ben didn't get.

In training he'd been portrayed as stubborn and somewhat reckless at times, and yet in person Ben found him to be neither.

Dean was deeper and much more complex than history portrayed him.

And there was something else too.

Something that Ben found unnerving.

Dean _knew_ him, like _really_ knew him.

And for some bizarre reason, the feeling was mutual.

Ben just couldn't shake the feeling that they'd met, even though it was impossible. It was like déjà vu and it was creeping the hell out of this soldier.

The bones of it, though, was that Ben liked the Winchesters already. They had been his heroes for so long, and now he was here with them, hunting with them. Maybe he'd even die with them.

And if he did, it would be an honor.

"Hey, I think I see the car!" Dean sounded almost excited.

They'd been walking along the tree line back towards Millie Mason's house for awhile now, and the elder Winchester's statement couldn't have come too soon.

Ben was all out, and he doubted he'd have gotten much further.

He looked down at his bandaged hand and saw the coffee-colored stains of dried blood all over it. He wasn't even sure he dare look at the remnants that lay beneath.

_How long before blood poisoning sets in? If it hasn't already…_

Ben noticed Dean and Sam had stopped up ahead and placed the crate on the ground, but they hadn't yet reached their ride.

Ben frowned and tried to pick up his sluggish pace until he was just behind them, wondering what was going down.

It was then that he noticed they were not alone.

There was a cop and his deputy waiting just in front of the old beat up Dodge they'd been heading for. The sheriff looked pissed, to say the least.

"I was wondering where you two yahoos had gotten to," he growled. "Thought maybe I'd need a search party to find the search party."

"We didn't manage to find Miss Mason," Sam offered, obviously uncertain how to play the situation from the timbre of his voice.

The sheriff glanced past the brothers, staring straight at Ben. "Nope, I can see that," he said, sarcasm filtering into his drawling tones. "But I notice you found yourself something else mighty interesting."

"He's err…a lost soldier from Cheyenne Base. He got disorientated and hurt during manoeuvres out here. Lucky we found him," Sam apparently lied rather well – not well enough to fool Sheriff Grant, however.

Grant rubbed at his chin as if in deep thought, but it was a derisive gesture. "You're a good storyteller, son, I'll give you that. But y'see, I've been a lawman too long to believe anything unless I have it in black and white. And while you boys have been off playing _Grizzly Adams_, I've been checking out those I.D.s you gave."

"I would say we can explain everything, but…"

"But it would be a lie, wouldn't it, _Winchester_?" Deputy Westerman was literally sneering as he took a step forwards, his right hand reaching for the cuffs attached to his utility belt. "Are you gonna come quietly, bad boy?"

From his expression, it looked like he was hoping for a fight.

Dean huffed. "Dude, I don't do _anything_ quietly."

Westerman nodded. "Id' heard that." His hand moved away from his belt. It didn't even reach for his sidearm. "From Mr. Roman…"

And then Westerman opened his mouth – wide.

It was a sight all three hunters had seen before, but it never ceased to amaze any of them.

Dean reacted first, as always, and grabbed for his Colt. Even though it was a wasted motion, he let off a couple of rounds into the thing.

The deputy closed his jaw and laughed again, this time focusing on Ben with his gaze. "Maybe I'll eat the boy that has become a man first," he taunted. "Would you like that, Dean? Would you like me to chow down on the son you never had until his very bones grind at the snap of my teeth?"

"You're not gonna touch him, you sonofabitch," Dean spat.

"Or_ what_?" Grant stepped forwards, pushing his deputy to one side. He was obviously the head honcho of the duo. "I've heard you'd got balls, but I'd say you're all out of luck this time." The sheriff pointed back towards the Dodge. "Guess you left all your Borax in the trunk, huh?"

Westerman looked agitated at being interrupted, a nervous twitch under his left eye making him seem almost human. "Let me kill the kid first," he pleaded with his superior. "Let me deprive Winchester of his one last chance of a so called family." The deputy sneered at Dean. "Even if _he isn't_ your own brat. But then, maybe you just didn't have it in you to manage that one…"

Dean bit into his own lip in an attempt not to let the thing bait him, Ben could see the thin trickle of blood forming between his lips, but it was obviously no use.

If something didn't happen, and fast, Ben knew Dean was going to launch himself at the leviathan who had taken the deputy's place, and he would probably die in the act.

It was like watching a sacrificial lamb running to its own slaughter.

_Mom…_

Ben didn't have time to wonder at the leviathan's comments.

He didn't have even a second to ponder just what Dean was to him.

Because just as he'd feared, Dean's temper exploded, and as Westerman opened his huge maw once again, Dean ran straight for him, gun blazing in a futile attempt to kill the thing.

Ben saw Sam react, firing off his Beretta in a similar hopeless act to his brother.

He'd give them one thing, loyal and brave to the last.

But sometimes neither cut it in the real world.

Ben closed his eyes, knowing what had to come next.


	5. Chapter 5

**Fallout Part Five**

As Dean lunged forwards at the Leviathan, he spotted Ben make a similar move out of the periphery of his vision. The only weird thing was, the kid actually closed his eyes for a second as if the blind really was leading the blind.

Then Dean realized Ben was reaching for his standard issue sidearm with his_ left_ hand – not that aim or accuracy actually mattered when your bullets were totally ineffective.

But then something happened.

Not only did Ben empty a clip into Westerman, but the slugs _did_ have an effect.

The deputy screamed in surprise as two bullets tore into his torso and began to burn until his flesh looked like it was melting from the inside out.

More slugs hit in various spots until the once-sneering Leviathan was brought to his knees in a mass of liquefying flesh.

Grant reached for his own sidearm and it was then Dean realized their problem.

Ben was out of bullets, and he had no hand to reload with, even though he had spare clips.

"Dean, Sam, the equipment crate!" Ben dodged behind a tree as the Sheriff's bullets tore into its trunk.

Normal bullets might be useless _against_ a Leviathan, but a Leviathan could use them well enough on a human.

Dean and Sam both dived for the container they'd been carrying, Dean yanking open the lid as he realized what Ben was saying.

The weapons inside were loaded with the same ammo as Ben had used – and right now they needed that to bring down Grant before he shot their butts into oblivion.

A shell bounced off the metal lid as Sam stuck a hand inside and tugged out a futuristic looking rifle. It had the same general shape as an M-4 carbine, but the barrel appeared wider.

Sam didn't waste time admiring the thing, and instead quickly checked he had a full magazine before aiming and firing.

A spray of bullets cut into the tree line, spraying fresh snow and pine branches everywhere.

Grant rolled behind an old log and reloaded his handgun, the respite giving Dean a chance to grab a more useful weapon than his own. He stuffed the safetied Colt back in his waistband, seized one of the M-4 hybrids and then made a dive for the tree Ben was still crouching behind.

"You okay?" He asked breathlessly as he ducked away from a fresh barrage from the Sheriff.

Ben nodded. "I could use a reload, though."

Dean quickly slid a clip into the automatic and handed it back to the wounded soldier. "Man these slugs are awesome. I wanna hug the dude that invented these things!" He grinned. "And lemme tell you, I _so_ don't do hugs, but I'd make an exception for this guy."

Ben dared to pop from behind the trunk to send two rounds off at Grant. When he bobbed back down, Dean could see he was actually grinning like he was a kid all over again.

"What's so funny?"

"You came up with the bullets. Or _will_ do…" Ben's eyes sparkled as Dean balked.

"Jerk," Dean snarked back.

"Will you two cut it out!" Sam could hear the exchange from his position, but appeared more interested in taking down the enemy than exchanging jibes.

He gestured for his two comrades to try and get behind the Sheriff while he continued moving forwards, distracting the Leviathan.

Dean rolled his eyes than nodded, sliding from his position to let off a full clip at the fake lawman.

More fir trees bit dust, but the leviathan was still managing to skilfully doge the Borax bullets.

Ben followed Dean from behind the tree, but made left as the hunter made right.

Together, they came up behind Grant with just enough of a line of fire to bring him down.

The pair nodded to one another and fired simultaneously.

Grant spun around at them, but all too late to get any shots off. Borax slugs cut into him, slicing through his flesh and then dissolving inside to let out their lethal dose. He crumpled to his knees, his firearm dropping from his grasp to clutch at the entry wounds all over his torso.

Dean grinned.

Hunting with Ben was good.

It was just how he had imagined it would be.

"C'mon, we need to move fast, before they recover!" Ben was up on his feet, a little unsteady, but still pretty lithe for a guy who'd been through so much. He kept his firearm pointed at Grant, even though the Sheriff was currently more burnt and molten cadaver than an effigy of a man.

When Dean didn't move he barked. "C'mon, the heads, we gotta still cut off the bastards heads or…"

Sam was standing over Westerman, his M-4 style weapon at the ready. Every time the cop looked like he might be getting himself together, Sam filled him full of another clip. "Dean, in the trunk!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming already!" Dean dived for the Dodge and quickly popped the trunk. Moving a fake floor panel, he grabbed a large machete and returned to the kill zone.

He moved on Westerman first.

Standing over the cop, he held up a hand, telling Sam not to use any more ammo on the Leviathan. There was just enough of Westerman's head and face for him to see and hear everything the hunter said.

Dean leaned low, just in case. "He might not be my_ real_ kid, you sonofabitch, but I'm damn proud of him. So tell me now who has the biggest set of jewels, huh? 'Cause it sure don't look like your boss _Dick_ from where I'm standing," he spat.

Dean swung the machete, not letting Westerman even try to reply.

The Leviathan's head rolled a few feet and sat quietly under a young fir.

Without waiting, Dean moved to Grant.

The Sheriff currently had no features left to talk with, but Dean knew the Leviathan would soon fully reform if he waited too long. With a second slash of his blade, he decapitated Grant with a clean slice.

The almost bare skull plopped onto his CAT boot and he squeamishly kicked it off. "Man…_that's gross_."

Sam joined his brother and Ben with a small canvas sack in his hand. He held it aloft to show he'd already "bagged" the deputy's head. "Any ideas where we deposit these?"

"I've heard the Colorado State Bank have some pretty cool safe boxes," Dean jibed.

"There's a case with the electronic equipment inside in the crate," Ben suggested, somewhat more wisely. "We'll take the gear out and store the heads in it. We need to take them into the mountain with us."

Dean pulled a face. "We need to do _what_?"

Ben smiled. His face was still covered in a thin layer of sweat, and he was clearly still in pain, but the soldier was definitely enjoying this hunt as much as Dean was. "We need to take them with us," he repeated. "First let's get Sam a hair cut and something to eat, then I'll explain everything on the way back to Cheyenne."

"You mean we actually have a plan that isn't wing it?" Sam asked, bagging the second head. "Because if we do, it's a first."

Dean slapped his brother on the back and then stowed his M-4 in the Dodge's trunk, admiring the weapon as he did so. "Hey, it works for me," he grinned. "I mean, for starters, Ben mentioned food, and dammit, I'm_ starving_…" He grabbed the equipment crate next and Sam helped him stow it.

Then Dean opened the Challenger's door and helped Ben onto the back. It was awkward with the bucket seat and only one hand, but he slumped down appreciatively after a second. "I'm up for a burger," he teased. "Is there a Biggerson's in town?"

Dean almost choked. "Suddenly I'm wanting to kick your ass," he said, sliding in behind the wheel.

"Yeah," Ben sighed back. "Well there's a long line, and you're at the back behind a coupla hundred Leviathan."

"Then I'll just have to kick their asses too," Dean smirked and once Sam was aboard spun the car in a one-eighty with just one hand.

As he drove, he looked at his watch.

They only had a few hours now until the deadline, and so much more to do.

He glanced into the rearview and watched Ben cradling his injured arm.

How John Winchester had ever watched as his sons became hunters, Dean would never know.

While one part of him was proud of the man Ben had turned into, the other half wanted to drag his butt away from it all and hide him somewhere safe.

Somewhere he could be _normal_ again.

Suddenly, Dean was very glad he'd never had any kids of his own.

Being a surrogate dad to Ben was hard enough – especially as Ben didn't even know it anymore.

…

_**Colorado Springs**_

_**Sometime Later…**_

Seeing Sam exit a beauty salon with marine-style hair should have made Dean's day, but under the circumstances, the best he could muster was a cheeky grin and a sardonic comment.

"Very cute_, Samantha_."

Sam squirmed. "Bitch."

Dean grinned. "Right back atcha." He sobered a little. "We need to get back on the road if we're gonna make Cheyenne in time."

"Yeah." Sam looked glum. Maybe he had cause too.

The pair made it back down the alleyway to where the Dodge was still waiting, with Ben on the rear seat.

The brothers dropped in the front beside one another and Dean instantly cranked up the motor.

"Looking good," Ben offered Sam, apparently not seeing the funny side of his new haircut quite as much as Dean.

Sam squirmed again. "_Whatever_…"

"Okay, so when my little brother has done sulking, can we get back to plan A before we reach the mountain knowing jack?" Dean glanced in the rearview, pointing his comment at Ben. "First off, even if your electronic gizmos and Sam's fixed up I.D.s get us in, how to we know who is a creepy crawler and whose not?"

"I don't know how to identify them," Ben admitted. "The original plan, and best hope we still have is to bring them to us."

Dean rolled his eyes. "How? By announcing over the address system that there's free white meat in the galley or something?"

"Ship's have galleys," Sam corrected. "Not top secret military installations."

"Bite me."

"Now who sounds like a Leviathan."

Dean flipped Sam the bird and Ben slapped his good hand against his forehead in frustration. "The idea is to draw them to us by having what they want. Basically, we steal the toxin before they do and make them come to_ us_ for it."

"Oh yeah, that's a great plan," Dean growled sarcastically. "We'll just ventilate half the U.S. armed forces and grab a top secret weapon with a safety pin and a band aid."

Ben smiled. "No," he offered confidently. "We simply remove them from the equation. We force the top brass to evacuate the installation by faking the threat of "Scalpel" having leaked. They'll clear out all personal apart from a cleanup team. That would be us – it's what our fake I.D.s have us tagged as. The only others stupid, or daring enough to stay inside would have to be the Leviathan."

"So we fake a leak, steal the toxin and then what? Dick's people will never let us out the mountain with it. I don't think even Borax slugs will stop them enough for us to get away." Sam looked discouraged. "_And,_ if we did get away, what on earth do we do with a lethal toxin?"

"Sell it on EBay," Dean quipped.

"We don't try to get away." Ben's face suggested he wasn't sure about this part of the mission anymore than the brothers were, but he continued with the narrative. "We take "Scalpel" into the Cryo-electronics lab. It's where the Navy are performing superconductor research, and it's also behind two huge blast doors deep in the mountain."

Sam frowned. "The blast doors I get. The deeper we bury any Leviathan the better, but why is superconductor research so important?"

"Because they use liquid nitrogen. We can literally freeze those bastards solid in there." Ben apparently liked that part of the plan, from the grin on his face.

Sam shook his head. "I'm no expert, but liquid nitrogen won't stay at freezing point once it's exposed to any kind of heat. They probably won't stay frozen."

Ben shrugged. "Maybe not, but it will buy us enough time to blow the mountain and bury those suckers so deep they'll never crawl out."

Dean whistled. "_Blow_ the mountain? As in blow up a top military joint? I like you, I really do but…_are you friggin' nuts_?" As an afterthought he added. "And besides, do we look like we carry that amount of C4 in the trunk?"

Sam was catching on faster than his brother. He turned and looked at Ben. "Cheyenne was originally a cold war facility, right? So I'm guessing it has some kind of self-destruct system still in place?"

"Right," Ben sighed. "And I have all the access codes we need to activate it. So are you in?"

Dean cocked one brow. "Do we really have a choice?"

…

_**Just Outside Cheyenne Base Security Perimeter**_

It hadn't taken Dean long to find the spot Ben had indicated on the map – it was just outside the patrol areas operated at the mountain, but close enough for him to upload all their fake information into the military computers on base.

While Ben had the most knowledge, he had limited typing skills due to his hand injury, so Sam was preparing the laptop as per the captain's instructions.

Ben had no doubt the younger Winchester was capable of the job, but as he dressed into his new uniform, he couldn't help but keep looking over his shoulder to glance at the hunter working.

Dean was already dressed and surprisingly looked good as a marine officer. Ben wasn't about to tell him so, however.

Dean was definitely self-confident enough in that department.

As Ben struggled one-handed into his jacket, Dean walked over and guided the soldier's damaged arm into place. Then he offered up a long overcoat from the Dodge's trunk.

"Thought maybe you could put this over your hand? Kinda looks conspicuous, otherwise, if you catch my drift."

Ben glanced down at the coat. "Cas's?" He asked quietly.

Dean looked surprised that the soldier knew about the angel. "Man, they taught you about _him_? This is starting to sound like we've been on _Big Brother _or something. Do you know every time we've taken a leak, too?"

Ben smiled. "Err…no." He touched the coat, his eyes saying his mind was running on overdrive. "Can I ask you a question?"

Dean bit into his lip and almost turned away.

Did he know what was coming next?

"Shoot."

"Back in the woods, what did the cop mean when he said "even if he isn't your own brat?" And how did you know my mother's name?" Ben watched the hunter's expression become pained, but he kept his eyes locked on Dean's.

Eventually, Dean accepted it was time to be honest. "This is going to sound nuts, but I knew your mom – _I knew you_. To cut a long story short I screwed up your lives like I screw up everything else…"

Ben shook his head, confused. There were so many feelings burning in his chest, like he'd known this all along, and yet still knew nothing. "When I look at you, I think I remember you sometimes, and yet, actually, _I don't."_

Dean pointed to the coat still draped over Ben's arm. "There are a few perks with having an angel as your pal. When I finally realized I was ruining your lives, I asked him to make you forget me, forget _everything._ You deserved so much more than what I could give."

"Wasn't that for us to decide?"

"No,_ dammit_!" Dean was angry again, his timbre telling a thousand stories without him voicing them.

He whirled around, fixing his gaze on the Dodge.

Ben moved up beside him. "You tried, but you just couldn't change fate, huh? 'Cause here I am all grown up and still hunting."

Dean looked to the soldier's bandaged hand. "Maybe still _dying_," he growled. "If you stick with us."

Ben laughed wryly. "You live. You die. Life's a bitch. I just want to go out swinging at those bastards, y'know?"

Dean sighed. "Yeah, I know."

"Did you love mom?"

The question caught Dean off guard. "Not enough." he took down a long, defeated breath. "Not enough or I'd have protected her better. Protected _you_ better."

"You thought we were safe."

"I shoulda done more than think it, I should have checked. When all this freaky Leviathan crap goes down with the toxin - I just should have checked. Got you to safety. Somewhere. _Anywhere_."

Ben looked sheepish for a second. He had so much knowledge of the future that Dean didn't. "Maybe you just didn't have time."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean turned to look at the boy that had become a man again.

But Ben wasn't prepared to give an answer. "It doesn't matter." The soldier moved to walk away, heading towards Sam as if the conversation was over. Under his breath, he mumbled. "None of it will matter as long as we complete the mission and change the damn future…"

…

Sam glanced up as he heard Ben's footfalls heading his way. "Hey, I'm just about ready to try this thing. Wanna take a look over everything before I hit send?"

Ben smiled, and bobbed down to examine the data on the laptop screen, but Sam could tell the soldier was troubled.

It wasn't really difficult to guess why.

Sam hadn't overheard all the conversation between Ben and his brother, but he'd gotten the gist of what had gone down.

Dean was feeling guilty for not doing more to protect the Braedens, and Ben was still confused over why Dean would ever have wanted them out of his life.

_Happy families_, Sam mused. _Now if only I could just find one…_

"Looks good." Ben broke him from his thoughts. "I think we're ready to upload our I.D.s and see if we hit any firewalls my people didn't know about."

"This will work? I mean, we can just hack in like this so easily?" Dean appeared surprised.

"We're not hacking in," Ben corrected. "All the login information and protocols are simply old in my day. But they're still military encodes that we have stored and archived. You're forgetting this was a sanctioned Navy mission, not a Winchester wing it and see gig."

Sam grinned.

Dean looked slightly hurt. "_Wing it_ gigs? Dude, some of your intel on us is whacked."

"And some of it isn't." Sam continued to smile as he hit the "send" button.

A line appeared on screen as the files and folders were uploaded into the facilities hard drives. The transfer took about six minutes, after which a small square began to flash.

_Upload Complete. _

_System Ready…_

"That's it?" Dean grumbled. "How do we know it worked?"

Ben shrugged. "We know it's worked when we drive up to the gatehouse and don't get our asses arrested."

Dean nodded, sliding on his officer's cap. "Jeez, that's _so_ comforting," he groused. Then he looked at the Dodge as something hit him. _"Drive_ up? In that piece of crap?"

"Well we can't just carry two Leviathan heads and three Borax firing rifles that haven't even been invented yet up to the gatehouse without attracting attention, can we?" Ben took a breath.

Sam nodded in understanding. "I guess we need to hijack ourselves a vehicle with military plates next then, huh?"

Ben eased Cas's coat over his bad hand and straightened his tie. "Guess so," he agreed almost flippantly.

Then, without waiting, he walked past the Dodge, through a short section of trees, and straight in front of an oncoming Hummer headed for the base.


	6. Chapter 6

**Fallout Part Six**

Sam wanted to close his eyes as the Hummer screamed to a halt only a hair's breadth away from Ben, but somehow he couldn't. Watching the reckless soldier was like working with Dean, and it was somewhat captivating, if terrifying at times.

The driver of the Hummer wasn't so impressed.

A young woman in Airforce garb climbed out, her temper matching her fiery red hair. "Just what do you think you're doing sauntering around in the middle of the road out here? What? Are you _nuts_?"

Ben waited until the verbal assault calmed and then cleared his throat. "Just what kind of training did they put you, through? Where I come from you're supposed to salute a senior officer, not chew him out. You know I could put you on report for this?"

The woman rolled her eyes and mumbled a very insincere, "Sorry, sir. Didn't see you there, sir."

Her attitude made Sam grin. Her voice might be apologetic, but her mind was screaming "screw you," of that he was sure.

"Well, now you can give me and my colleagues a lift into Cheyenne to show just how sorry you are." Ben was smirking, and it was obvious he knew he was pushing his luck, but he carried on anyway.

The woman's eyes narrowed and she changed from defensive to suspicious in a heartbeat as Sam and Dean appeared from the treeline. "And just what are three Navy guys doing out here with no transport? I think I better see some I.D. and an explanation, _right now_."

Ben smiled again, but this time pulled a .45 from under Cas's jacket. He pointed it at the woman, and his expression suggested he didn't care if he used it or not. "I thought you might feel that way. That's why you're going to take a little walk with me, and then we're going to borrow your Hummer." He nodded to Dean, who promptly produced a length of twine to bind the woman.

"You won't get on base," She spat angrily. "They're ready for terrorists like you. You'll be locked away before sundown."

Sam produced a somewhat grimy hanky from his pocket and handed it to Dean, who speedily shoved it into the grouching female's mouth. "Trust me," he grumbled. "You'll be thankful you're not anywhere near that mountain soon enough."

She glared, but couldn't respond further because of the gag.

"What do we do with her?" Sam asked, looking warily at the gun Ben had produced.

"We stick her in the Dodge's trunk once we've emptied it of our gear." Dean began leading the girl back through the trees to their car, while Ben pulled the Hummer off the road ready for loading so it didn't look suspicious.

Sam followed his brother, tossing their weapons and equipment clear to try and make the girl as comfortable as possible in the confined space. He looked pained as he helped her inside. "Sorry," he mumbled. "But once you understand why we're doing this…"

He didn't finish.

The woman's red faced glower said she didn't believe him now, and probably never would.

Reluctantly, he slammed the trunk lid shut and walked away, his heart feeling guilty, his mind howling that their plan was doomed.

….

Half an hour later, Sam was perched on the rear seat of the Hummer as Dean slid it carefully up to the main gate at Cheyenne's primary entrance.

The fact that Airforce, Army and Navy personnel all used this one base was somewhat comforting considering they were supposed to be marines in an Airforce registered vehicle, but Sam still held his breath as Dean rolled down the window and passed over their fake orders.

"We're the new cleanup team rotating in today with "Scalpel."" Dean waited as the soldier on duty looked over an electronic pad that had apparently replaced the old fashioned clip board.

The guard scrolled down and then nodded as Ben's uploaded data appeared on his screen. "I.D.s please," he grunted.

Dean collected an I.D. tag from Ben and Sam and passed it over along with his own.

Sam sucked down a breath and held it as the sentry scanned the barcodes, then carefully examined his recently altered photos.

"Thank you, sirs." The guard finally smiled and handed the passes back. He pointed into a deep tunnel that burrowed deep into the mountain. "If you'd like to take your vehicle straight to the motor pool area inside the tunnel entrance, there'll be someone there waiting to assign you quarters." He saluted and Dean pulled away.

Everyone in the Hummer exhaled.

"Guess my files were all intact," Ben grunted.

Dean sniffed, vocalizing Sam's earlier concern. "Yeah, let's just hope some yahoo doesn't spot our ride is from Peterson Airforce Base, or we might be screwed."

"Nah," Ben shrugged. "I'll just lie my ass off." He winked at Dean. "Seems to be a family trait."

"Don't push it, rugrat."

"You forget I'm as old as you these days," Ben helpfully pointed out as Dean parked.

"You'll always be a cheeky rugrat with attitude to me. So don't go thinking you're not beyond getting your ass kicked."

Ben looked at the captain's insignia on his uniform. "Hey," he quipped. "I'm the senior officer here!"

Sam jumped down from the Hummer. "And you'll still never beat him in a bitching contest," he mumbled softly.

Ben nodded. "Yeah, some things never change…" He clambered down after Sam, wobbling a little as he clenched his right forearm.

"You okay?" Sam asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

"Fine," Ben sighed. "Let's just get the gear out and move our asses before our military chaperone arrives and wants to know why we have two heads in a case and some _Buck Rodgers_ weaponry."

Dean looked intently at the rifle he'd just pulled from the Hummer. "Jeez, do we get Wilma and Twiki too?" He slung the carbine over his shoulder. "Man, you gotta love Twiki. Pint-sized metal dude with the voice of Bugs. I _so_ want me one of those…"

Sam sighed, taking a rifle for himself and several fresh clips along with the case carrying the Leviathan heads. When everyone was fully laden, he slammed the rear door of the vehicle and took stock of his surroundings.

They were just beyond the mouth of a huge tunnel bored into the Colorado mountainside. The tunnel seemed to go on forever, with side shoots turning from brick walls to metal ones, to massive blast doors that wouldn't actually have been out of place if they had been on _Buck Rodgers._

They were walking into a prison that probably only Ben knew how to navigate, and Sam wasn't sure Ben wasn't going to stay upright much longer.

The soldier was popping painkillers like they were going out of fashion, and his brow had an unhealthy sheen of sweat that suggested he had a fever.

The hand was undoubtedly infected, and probably rotting beneath the bandages. Ben hadn't allowed Sam to check it recently, which made the young hunter all the more suspicious.

"Sam, will you stop admiring the place like a girl and shag ass over here?" Dean was beckoning him, and Sam realized Ben and his brother were already way ahead in a side tunnel.

Sam glanced around apprehensively. He couldn't see any security cameras, but a facility like this must have them. "What about on-site surveillance," he asked. "They have to have some safety measures if they house stuff like Scalpel here."

"They do," Ben admitted, carrying on down the passageway undaunted. "The system picks up all registered staff and alerts the MP's to any interlopers. It knows where we are every second. It will have scanned us on entry to the first annexe and then monitors us until we exit the site and sign out."

Dean grunted. "Gee whiz, then how do we steal a top secret weapon and evacuate the place?"

"Because," Ben offered smugly. "The software we uploaded will now be overriding the system making us appear to be in sanctioned areas of the complex."

"We hope," Sam countered. "So, exactly what next?"

Ben gestured with his good hand to the end of the corridor. "We're heading for the clean room where Scalpel is being stored. It's fully packaged and protected unless someone_ wants_ to use it. All we need to do is make the system computers think otherwise and we're in business."

They rounded a corner and a marine sentry was abruptly in their way, standing to attention outside a smaller blast door. Ironically, the lab was labelled "Area 52."

Sam wasn't sure whether it was simple coincidence, or whether someone at the facility had a sense of humor.

Either way, it was unnerving.

The marine eyed them suspiciously as they approached, his wary gaze falling on the weapons they carried.

Ben was ready for the soldier before he could even question them. "New cleanup team," he snapped, producing orders from inside his uniform pocket. "Major Bricknall wants us to inspect "the item" and that it's been correctly deposited."

The marine briskly took the instructions and surveyed them line by line, his gaze obviously querying every last word. Eventually, he stood down and snapped Ben a salute. "Everything seems to be in order, sir."

The soldier gave the orders back to Ben, then moved aside so that the group could access the blast door. He made no attempt to offer any help in opening it.

_Maybe this is another test, to see if we actually have the access codes?_ Sam pondered.

Ben wasn't phased, though, and moved forwards, sliding his pass through a reader in the wall. The reader apparently accepted the pass and some kind of retinal scanner popped down.

Sam gulped. Had Ben counted on this too?

Ben placed his chin on the ledge provided and let the machine read his right eye.

The machine seemingly agreed that he should be here and the door in front of them hissed as huge hydraulic locks released.

Ben stepped back, unable to spin the door open himself due to his injury.

Dean took the lead, swinging the massive, shiny circular entrance open.

It was like walking into a futuristic bank vault – except this place held something far more precious than bullion.

It held the gift of life or death depending on who wielded its contents.

The group moved quickly inside, rotating the door closed behind them.

Dean whistled. "Phew, I thought that guy was gonna rumble us for sure. He acted like he had a pole up his ass or something."

"Considering what he's guarding, I'm not surprised," Sam countered.

Ben shrugged, finally dropping Cas's overcoat now he didn't need to disguise his arm. "Actually," he offered. "I doubt people with his security clearance even know what they're protecting."

Dean groaned. "Typical government cover up crap, huh? Except this time, if we don't fix this mess, it's gonna bite us all in the ass come supper time."

Ben looked at his watch and grimaced. "Which isn't that far away. We need to move. _Now_."

Sam scanned the room, knowing they needed to find Scalpel, and fast, but that they also needed to hit the emergency containment breach alarm to evacuate the mountain.

At the far end of the room was a huge wall with several small doors – it reminded Sam of morgue refrigeration units. He guessed the toxin was inside one of the compartments.

To the left, was a bank of what appeared to be main frames whirring and chirping. Did it really need all that hardware to keep Scalpel safe, or was it for another "project" stored within the wall?

_Area 52? They weren't kidding after all… _

Adjacent to the computer systems were two desks and a rack containing HASMAT suits.

Ben pointed to the suits. "One of us needs to put one of those on, and then go back outside, tell the soldier Scalpel is leaking. As I don't have the use of my hand…"

"I'll do it," Dean instantly volunteered. "I'm used to lying my ass of for a living anyway." He sauntered over to the rack and began selecting a suit that looked like it was his size.

While he "dressed," Ben sat down at the first desk and tried to load the correct screen on the computer. With one hand, it was laboriously slow, and obviously very painful.

Sam nudged him aside. "Here, let me. Just tell me what to do."

Ben smiled wryly. "Guess I'm stubborn, huh?"

"Right on up there with Dean in the jerk department." Sam smiled softly back.

Ben pointed at what Sam needed to click on, and a light began to flash a red warning symbol in from of the refrigeration units. "Sometimes…sometimes I think I can remember him, you know? But its like the memory is at the edge of my mind, and I can never quite catch it. Like a shadow out the corner of your eye or something."

Sam nodded. "He never meant to hurt you or your mom, you know that right?"

"I know," Ben sighed softly. "But I wish I'd known him then…now…" He chuckled. "Or _whenever_."

Dean stuck on a HASMAT helmet, oblivious that he was being discussed and then turned to look at Sam and Ben. He gave them the thumbs up. "I feel like Captain Kirk in these duds. Pretty cool, huh?"

"You look ridiculous," Sam reaffirmed, with a smile, knowing his brother probably couldn't hear him.

Dean nodded through the huge visor and began to walk albeit it clumsily back to the blast door.

Sam frowned. "Are you sure this is gonna work, the way he's wobbling around they'll think he's drunk or something."

"Or," Ben suggested. "They might just think he's been contaminated with Scalpel. This should work."

"I hope so."

Ben watched the blast door open and Dean disappear, then leaned over the keyboard Sam was working at and hit the "enter" key. A loud klaxon began to wail, almost deafening the pair.

"Is that going off through the whole mountain?" Sam shouted above the noise.

"I sure hope so." Ben glanced at the wall clock. "Because we're out of time and we need this place emptying."

A comm system on the wall began to chirp and flash simultaneously and Ben bobbed his head towards it. "That'll be for us." He jumped up from his chair and pushed the conference button, but Sam still couldn't hear the whole conversation above the noise from the alarm.

"Yes, sir, I can confirm that I set off the alarm after a routine check of the containment system in the lab. I'm sorry, but we have a level one breach. I believe one of my unit may already have been compromised…"

There was a garbled response. "…possible…close off that section of the facility…contain the breach…"

Ben shook his head as if the officer on the line could see him. "I'm sorry sir, it's my opinion we should do a full evac until my team is sure Scalpel has been neutralized."

Another garbled response. Did the commanding officer actually sound angry?

Ben squirmed, but started to recite a huge chain of numbers and random letters that Sam could only assume was some kind of security clearance.

Then, for a time, there was only the high pitched scream of the klaxon.

Sam looked up at the speaker it was blaring from and bit into his lip.

Was this whole mess working, or had their bluff just been called?

Suddenly, the sound the klaxon was making changed as did the rhythm of the pulsing warning light. A voice joined the klaxon's wail, loud and emotionless.

"This is a level one evacuation alert. All personal are to report to your designated emergency exits points. Repeat, this is a level one evacuation alert. _This is not a drill…"_

As stark warning repeated over and over again, Dean stumbled back in through the blast door and tugged off his helmet. "We've actually pulled this off. Are we nuts or what?"

"Very nuts," Ben agreed. "But we haven't won yet. That was the easy part. Now we actually have to steal Scalpel and get it to the other research lab before the Leviathan mange to find us."

"Yeah, and given the alarm we just set off, we just told them where to find us," Dean groused, attempting to pull off the rest of the suit.

Ben stopped him. "You might want to consider leaving that on, given what we're about to do."

Dean swallowed. _Hard._

"You know how to handle this stuff, right?" Sam asked, feeling very unsure suddenly. "I mean, you were fully trained as part of the mission?"

"Yes." Ben chewed on his bottom lip as he held out his injured hand. "But now I don't exactly have a steady grip anymore, do I?" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, but one of you guys has to get the toxin out of refrigeration and into a flask."

Dean backed up as Sam and Ben looked his way. "Whoa, don't look at me. I was never any good at science."

"You don't need to be," Ben countered. "You just need a steady hand and a firm grip." He smiled. "Oh, and death doesn't have to be an issue. And considering how many times you've beat that sucker already…"

"You don't _beat_ death," Dean grumbled. "You speak nicely to him and feed him bacon dogs, pizza, and pickle chips. And if you're real lucky, he doesn't fry your ass for being disrespectful."

"So you'll do it then." Sam smirked. "I mean, I'd hate to think we've found something your scared of," he teased.

"Screw you!" Dean barked, but yanked his helmet back on and grinned like a kid. "C'mon, hurry up." He beckoned to Ben. "Show me how to bag this bug before I change my mind."

"I'll talk you through it," Ben explained, but me and Sam have to be over there." He pointed to a "biological safe room." "First, though, Sam better make sure you're all zipped up nice and tight. This time we're not just trying to scare the natives." He indicated to Sam to make sure the suit was completely fastened and airtight and that the airline was in place and working.

Sam did as he was told, nodding when he was completely satisfied.

"Next time, you get the monkey suit," Dean said in a muffled voice through the visor.

Sam jerked a thumb towards the spare HASMAT coveralls. "Hey, they don't seem to do those things in extra long, or I'd be out here with you."

"Yeah, right, Samantha." Dean teased. "Just go get in your room with a view and let's get this over with before I need to take a leak and find there's no zipper…"

Sam followed Ben into the safe room and Ben closed the door and sealed it via a console. Then he brought up several images of the room beyond. He pushed another button. "Dean, can you here me?"

"Unfortunately."

Ben smiled. "Okay, so firstly, you need to find refrigerator number seventeen and enter the keycode 2411979."

Sam and Ben watched on the screen as Dean fumbled with the thick gloves he wore, but eventually managed to type in the code. He then turned, sought out the nearest camera and gave a thumbs up.

"Now, on the wall you'll see a shelf with several different sized containers. They kinda look like coffee flasks. Pick the smallest and open it up. Then, take the metal pincers on the hook to the left."

"Got 'em." Dean squeezed the weirdly shaped grabbers on camera for effect.

Ben mopped his brow. He was sweating again, but Sam wasn't sure if it was pain this time, or actual fear. The soldier carried on regardless. "Right, inside the refrigerator is a larger flask, remove the lid and take the glass container inside it either side with the pincers. This is the part were you need a steady hand…"

"You don't say," Dean grumbled back. "I'll just pretend it's a bottle of Jack. You never want to spill that stuff either."

Sam licked his lips. This was getting too weird, even for them.

The Winchesters were hunters, not arms thieves.

"Once you have the glass container, you need to place it inside the portable flask you just retrieved from the shelf. When the lid is on, I'll scan the room and we should be in the clear to come back in."

"Easy as pie," Dean remarked. "Which, by the way, you owe me a huge slice of after all this. I don't care what filling as long as it's freakin' _huge_, okay?"

Despite his flippancy, Sam could see Dean's grip was shaking a little as he started to transfer the virus.

Then, unexpectedly, Dean stopped moving altogether and just appeared to stare at the flask. "So guys…I think Dick's boys may be one step ahead of us after all."

Ben brought up another screen on the console. Sam watched as the soldier checked how many personnel where still left to evacuate and their positions in the facility.

There were forty blips still inside and ten blips that were close enough to Area 52 to be suspicious, but at this point, there was no certainty they were Leviathan either.

"Listen to me Dean, don't get cold feet now. As far as I can tell, there's no one close enough to us to be a threat yet. Just bag the flask and let's get out of here." Ben kept his voice low, and Sam guessed it was because he'd made the fatal mistake of thinking Dean had frozen out of nerves, panic, or some such emotion.

Maybe they hadn't taught the marines of the future so well about the Winchesters after all.

To prove it, Dean responded with a huff and a gripe. "_Dammit,_ what kind of a wuss ass do you take me for, Ben? I haven't frozen in fear down here. I meant the flask is _empty_, dude!"

Ben balked, and this time there definitely _was_ panic inhis voice. "What do you mean _empty_? It can't be!"

Dean daringly held up the clear container to the camera. "Nada. Nothing. As _in zilch…_"


	7. Chapter 7

**Fallout Part Seven**

**...**

**_Author's Note: A big thank you to everyone who has left me a review. I've had a great deal of fun playing with this end part. I hope you all enjoy the read!_ **

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Through the speaker in his helmet, Dean heard Ben sigh and then answer with an edge of relief tingeing his voice. "The toxin isn't liquid. It's in a transparent gaseous form. It's in there, trust me."

Dean quickly continued to stow Scalpel in its new home. "I'll never trust anybody again," he muttered under his breath as he screwed the sealed cap down. "Okay, the puppy's in its new doghouse. Now what?"

There was a brief pause as Ben scanned the room using the computer. "Now," he eventually answered. "You can take off your monkey suit and we can vacate this place before Dick's goons arrive."

As Dean thankfully yanked off his HASMAT gear, Ben and Sam emerged from their hiding place.

Ben took charge of the flask, carefully stowing it in a shoulder bag with his one hand. Then he fastened down the catch and slung it over his back.

"Time to shag ass to the super-_whatever_ lab?" Dean asked, retrieving his carbine with relief. _Gimme a gun to a super virus any day…_

"Superconductor research," Ben corrected. "And yeah, shagging ass would be good." He gestured to the tiny tracker Sam had used earlier.

Sam was brandishing the thing again, and it was beeping.

"I reconfigured it to Cheyenne mountain personnel still on site," Ben explained. "And those ten blips I spoke of earlier are now the only eight blips left in the complex. The trouble is, they're _definitely_ heading our way now."

"_Eight _Leviathan's after our butts? Jeez, they don't mess with odds, do they?" Dean approached the lab door, but waited to exit until Sam was the other side to cover him. He nodded to his brother and then opened up the entry and dived out.

Dean checked to the left as Sam followed his move and checked the right.

So far, their path was still empty, but the beeping was definitely getting louder.

"Which way?" Sam asked Ben as the soldier took position between the two brothers as if they were his escort.

"We need to go deeper inside the mountain. We take the next left and then walk about half a mile until we reach two huge blast doors. We need to go just beyond those."

"_Half a mile_?" Dean gaped. "I sure hope those freaky bastards didn't have their Wheaties this morning or we're so screwed."

"We're always screwed," Sam pointed out as they took the left Ben had directed them down. "Since when has that ever stopped us?"

…

Dean wasn't sure how long the journey into the mountain had taken, but one thing he was sure of was that sight of the massive blast doors was a more than welcome one.

"We have the code to get through these, right?" He asked as they paused for a moment beside the mammoth opening.

Ben sucked down a long breath as if the trip had finally drained him of any energy he'd had left and he teetered a little, steadying himself on the wall. He closed his eyes as if he needed to bring the code from some deep dark area in his mind, and Dean knew that the whole thing was getting too much.

Ben wasn't going to make it much further. He'd been running on adrenaline and distant promises he'd made to save the world.

But a human body could only take so much.

Ben re-opened his eyes and noticed Dean watching him. "It's 251983. You'll also need retinal recognition here."

Dean keyed in the sequence then waited while the system scanned his right eye. It seemed to accept the data it had been given and the shiny metal cylindrical door swung silently open.

Dean winced. "Does anyone but me find that thing kinda creepy?"

"Just remember the code for the return trip," Ben warned. "Because we need to seal these things as well as bring the mountain down. No second chances here."

Dean shrugged. "Hey, if I forget, I've always got you as my code man." He slapped Ben on the back, hoping to keep his spirits up.

Ben didn't answer.

Beyond the ominous blast doors was another smaller system of tunnels of the kind they were more used to. There was no labelling on the walls like before, and there was a musty smell that suggested the place wasn't all that well used.

The whole "feel" of the place was wrong, and Dean instantly drew his carbine into a defensive pose, wrapping the shoulder strap around his hand as he swung the weapon out in front of him.

"You getting the vibe too?" Sam asked, also taking on a protective stance. "Because something just feels _wrong_ down here."

Ben drew his sidearm with his good hand. It was shaking, but no one seemed to notice anymore.

They were all focused.

Ready for what was to come next.

"They're here," Ben hissed between gritted teeth. "I don't know how some of them got in front of us. But I _feel_ them…"

Dean knew without asking just what Ben was talking about. If you hunted enough, you got a sixth sense about these things. And apparently, all three of them had that exact "tingle" right now.

"Now what?" Sam whispered, his eyes darting down every passage as his forefinger itched over the trigger of his rifle.

"We stick with the plan," Dean grunted back as he took tentative steps down the first tunnel. "We gank a few of Dick's boys, get to the lab and end this. Here. Now. For Bobby and for Lisa."

Sam glanced at the tracker he'd been using. "All the blips have vanished," he grimaced. "How can that be possible?"

"They've found a way to block the signal," Ben admitted. "From here on in, this could get messy."

"Yeah, well Dean was born messy, trust me I've had to live in a Chevy with him for years," Sam quipped with a whisper.

Dean smirked and mouthed "asshat" while continuing to take point, his footfalls echoing gloomily on the polished flooring.

And then it came.

_Finally. _

The volley of weapons fire they'd all been waiting for.

The tunnels were too long for a Leviathan to actually jump one of them and use its mouth for the kill, so the creatures were resorting to old fashioned bullets to do their dirty work.

Maybe they'd use the bodies to feed on later, Dean pondered – except he had no intention of being monster chow just yet.

Diving to the ground as a slew of slugs tore into the walls around him, Dean somehow managed to return fire and keep his aim straight.

The Borax rounds bounced off a metal side door, leaving dents, but no holes.

He rolled then, taking cover in a small alcove.

Ben and Sam did much the same on the other side of the tunnel.

Dean glanced at his brother through a hail of more shells and saw Sam silently mime "How many?"

Dean shrugged back and shook his head. It was impossible to really tell as their attacker was using a small conference room and its door for cover. So far, though, he'd only been able to note one weapon.

That could easily be a trick, and he knew it.

Ben tapped as his watch and grimaced and Dean knew the officer meant they were running out of time.

The hunter drew in a long breath and closed his eyes. He thought of how Bobby had died trying to take out Roman. He thought about how all of that work had ultimately brought him to this moment.

_Talk to me, Bobby…_

There was only one way they were going to get past the Leviathan, and that was for some damn fool to go rabid on it and jump right in its line of fire.

Bobby had died for a cause.

Maybe this, right here, right now was Dean Winchester's.

Dean opened up his eyes and looked across again to Sam and Ben. There was no point in telling them what was coming next. He simply gave them his best rogue grin. "Hey girls, wanna watch how it's done?"

Sam's brow furrowed, he winced, he did the infamous constipated expression, and then, all-too late he seemed to realize what was about to happen.

Dean dived out into the corridor, his rifle spitting a fiery wall of Borax shells, and his mind bizarrely recounting the words to Bon Jovi's _Blaze of Glory._

He'd made it halfway to the conference room door when the Leviathan appeared to realize there was a madman approaching.

It began to fire again, wildly, bullets spewing out in a wide arc that _should_ have hit anything in the tunnel.

And yet, Dean seemed to dodge every shell like someone was guiding him to the left or right milliseconds in advance of the bullets.

_Talk to me Bobby…_

The Leviathan shouldn't have been afraid, certainly not of a mere human, and yet as Dean bore down on it, he realized the creature had literally dropped its own automatic and was backing up.

"You…you should be dead," it hissed.

Dean didn't question how he hadn't been hit. He didn't even consider it. All that seared through him now was a heat so intense, and anger so vibrant it, was like a small planet going supernova.

He rounded on the monster that wore an MP's garb, pointing his rifle at its temple. "How'd you like a taste of your own medicine, huh, piranha mouth?"

The Leviathan seemed to think on it, composing itself after its little faux pas of dropping its weapon. Then it opened its maw, rows of vicious teeth bristling and ready to bite.

Dean pulled the trigger. "Yeah, I thought that's what you'd say…"

The shells at such close range obliterated the front of the thing's skull, and the Borax inside did the rest. The creature slumped forwards into a heap at Dean's CAT boots. How long it stayed that way was anyone's guess, but if they blew the mountain sooner rather than later, it wouldn't matter.

Dean heard Sam and Ben enter the room behind him and he turned, miraculously unscathed.

"Dean how..?" Sam's mouth was open.

Ben didn't speak, but his expression said he was equally in awe.

Dean tried to brush it off, to push past them both back out into the corridor, but Sam caught his arm.

"Dean?"

"I just closed my eyes and imagined Bobby was here, covering my ass, _okay?_" Dean snapped. "It shouldn't have worked, _couldn't_ work. I should be toast right now, but I'm not, the bad guy is. So can we just move on?"

"Dean, that was suicidal!"

Dean shrugged free from Sam's grasp and took a fresh clip from his belt. He snapped it into the carbine and moved on. They were feet away from their goal now, and damned if anything was going to stop them.

_For Bobby, for Lisa_, his angry mind repeated.

And then, from somewhere behind an unexpected spray of ammunition filled the tunnel with bullet spatter.

Dean didn't even have time to think of the irony of it.

He'd made it through a full-frontal attack on a Leviathan, only to hit the deck due to his own carelessness.

Next time, he should re-check the tunnel before just walking blindly out.

If, of course, there ever was a next time.

…

"Dean, that's suicidal!"

Sam watched Dean step out into the corridor and then saw his brother crumple into a heap only seconds later as bullets riddled the complex walls.

"Dean!" Sam didn't consider getting mown down himself.

He didn't consider anything.

Sam simply dived after his brother, grabbing Dean's collar and dragging him through a hail of slugs into the lab they'd been heading for.

Behind, he could hear Ben following, capping off as many rounds from his .45 as he could with his one good hand.

How either of them didn't get taken out, Sam would always wonder.

But right now, as he rolled through the lab door, the emphasis was all on Dean.

How many bullets had he taken?

Was he even breathing?

Sam continued to check as Ben bounded through the door and somehow managed to reload with just one good hand and some juggling.

"Is he..?" Ben snapped, but couldn't finish the sentence.

Sam gawked, and had to double check his findings before answering. "I…I can't find any blood. No entry or exit wounds."

Ben emptied another clip as a wall of Leviathan began to approach down the corridor. For every one he took down, another seemed to take its place.

They were taking turns at healing from the Borax then pushing forwards, like an old British army tactic from the days of single shot weapons.

"_Something_ took him down. He _has_ to be hurt?" Ben barked.

Finally, Sam found it.

A lump the size of a small egg was coming up on the side of his brother's temple – but it wasn't any kind of bullet wound, shrapnel or ricochet damage. It looked like he'd been whacked by the butt of a gun.

"What _the..?" _

"Look, is he okay, or what?" Ben was still firing, but his expression said he was doing little to stave off the oncoming storm.

"He's out cold," Sam answered, picking his own weapon back up and heading to help the soldier. "I don't know how he's not dead. It just doesn't make sense…"

Sam peered through a glass portal in the door and saw at least six Leviathans moving ever closer, their maws wide, anticipating the kill. Some had still-healing bullet holes in various places on their bodies, but the Borax was only slowing them now, not taking them down.

He dared to dodge away from the cover of the door to let off a whole clip from his rifle into the crowd of creatures and the lead Leviathan's knees buckled, black ooze splashing on the hard shiny floor.

Another Leviathan moved up from the back and took the injured one's place, and still they came, teeth snapping and hungry eyes bulging.

Ben looked at Sam apologetically. "It's time you got Dean out of here," he said it like he was giving a platoon an order, not a friend a suggestion. "There's a rear exit to this lab that leads back to the blast doors. If you're lucky, there's only a couple of those things missing that might be down that way…"

Sam winced. "What are you saying? Are you asking me to_ leave_ you down here?"

Ben nodded as he sprayed the Leviathans with more .45 shells. "That's _exactly_ what I'm saying. You and Dean don't belong down here. You're not meant to die here, dammit."

"And you are?" Sam argued back as he too kept up the barrage. "Dean would never leave you, you know that!"

"But you're the smart one, Sam. Surely you've always known someone had to stay back and set off the self-destruct? Someone has to be here when those goons burst in to shoot the liquid nitrogen tanks back there and freeze those suckers."

Sam shook his head.

No, he hadn't thought that was part of the plan, and neither had Dean or he wouldn't have gone along with it either.

They'd lost enough people already.

"I'm not leaving you to die here!"

Ben sighed. "Sam, I was dead the minute I came through that portal. You know that deep down. Take Dean while there's still time. Once you're out that door I'll let those freaks in and then seal off the room as if there's been another containment breach. Then I hit the destruct followed by the nitro tanks. I figure you've twenty minutes, tops."

Sam looked at his fallen brother and then back to Ben.

He shouldn't have to make this decision.

"GO!" Ben barked.

And this time Sam moved.

Slinging the rifle over his shoulder he stooped low and scooped Dean up onto his shoulder. His brother groaned as if he was coming too, but didn't move in Sam's firm grip.

Sam cursed under his breath. _Man, how can you be doing this..?_ But as much as he liked Ben, he loved Dean more.

When he reached the rear exit, he turned one last time to see Ben backing away from the door, literally luring the Leviathan strike team into their trap.

Ben saw him pause and swallowed. "Tell Dean something for me, will you?"

"Anything."

"Tell him the advice he gave me about kicking people who pissed me off in the nuts came in real handy over the years." Ben smiled as if reliving something. "Tell him…tell him he was a great dad."

"You remember?" Sam asked, surprised.

"Yeah, mostly. Funny how it all comes back when you're gonna die, huh?" Ben nodded. "Now go, Sam. For me. _For Dean_."

Sam pressed hard into his palm as he turned away, suddenly feeling the need to make sure that this was real, that it wasn't some wild illusion brought on by Lucifer.

But just for once, he wished it was.

In fact, Sam abruptly wished the whole year had been a dark chapter in his mind, churned out by Lucifer's finest torture.

Because then Ben wouldn't be about to die.

Castiel would still be floating around on his not-so-white wings.

And Bobby would be alive.

But this wasn't a trick of the mind, and right now, he had less than twenty minutes to get away from Cheyenne or be buried under it along with his unconscious brother.

Sam wanted to offer Ben some words of comfort before he left, but there was nothing that hadn't been already said.

If their mission worked, then none of this would ultimately happen anyway.

If Scalpel wasn't stolen, Ben and his team would never end up being sent back to save it. Ben, and the rest of the word would live.

It was quite a paradox, but one Sam could live with – if he could run fast enough.

As he jogged away from the lab's rear entrance, he heard the security locks snap into place behind him. Two seconds later, a new klaxon began to sound, along with a different verbal warning from before.

_**Warning – facility self destruct sequence initiated. Warning… **_

As before, it repeated over and over until Sam thought his skull would burst.

But just barely audible over the new alert, there was another even more menacing sound.

The sound of an explosion, as back in the lab, Ben fired on the liquid nitrogen tanks, freezing everything inside to a solid block within seconds – including himself.

The floor seemed to tremble slightly under Sam's feet as he tried not to think about what was going on behind him.

He ran instead, Dean's flopping body slowing him down as he breathlessly headed for the massive blast doors, repeating the security code over and over in his head.

The shiny silver structures seemed to take forever to reach to Sam, and every step he took, he expected the walls to crumble in around him.

When the doors finally came into view, Sam dared to glance at his watch.

Ten minutes left, and a whole lot of distance to cover.

Still, if he followed the plan and took the southern exit, there should be a motor pool five minutes from his current position and he could drive the rest of the way out.

First, he had to close the massive doors behind him forever.

Sam carefully dropped Dean, followed by his rifle to the floor, and with the jarring motion his brother groaned and at last began to come around.

Sam ignored him, even though he didn't want to, and started to key in the security code. He'd gotten to the last digit when his fingers were torn away from the controls as something large and angry smashed into him.

Sam rolled with the thing, and as their tumble slowed he managed to spin free from its grasp just enough to avoid the Leviathan's huge mouth from chomping him in two.

The myriad of teeth snapped on empty air and then it dived at Sam again, fully intent on tearing the Winchester into meaty shreds.

"You ruined everything!" It shrieked in a barely human-sounding voice.

Sam didn't have the breath to answer as he scarcely dodged another snap of its jaw.

This wasn't like fighting a werewolf or other supernatural creature, there was no way he could fend it off if it took a hold of him anywhere.

If this thing grabbed him, he was dead.

Sam lunged sideways, wishing he hadn't put down his only defence. There was just no way to even disable his enemy now.

The Leviathan sensed his thoughts. "We'll find another way to bring mankind down without Scalpel, but me? I'll always be the one who had the pleasure of dining on Sam Winchester."

As it spoke, the creature pounced, pinning Sam to the wall nearest the blast door. It purposefully ground its teeth just millimetres from Sam's face, letting him hear the motion like the painful sound of fingernails clawing a blackboard.

"Any last requests?"

"Yeah. Die you bastard!"

The Leviathan spun around just in time to see Dean holding Sam's rifle a short distance from its skull.

Dean grinned. "Guess I can't wish for two much, but it'll be good to see your goo-brain splattered all over that wall before we leave."

He pulled the trigger.

The Leviathan's head exploded, spattering the blast door and the wall with black gloop.

Dean filled the thing's body with the rest of the clip, just to be sure it would be out of action long enough for them to close the mountain forever.

"Nice timing." Sam nodded to his brother. _Now how do I tell him Ben's dead?_

Dean looked around as Sam began once again to enter the door code, precious seconds of the self-destruct countdown lost. "Where's Ben?"

Sam finished the sequence, and quickly let the scanner check his right eye before answering. There was no way he was risking Dean trying to go back inside for an already lost cause.

The blast door hissed and started to silently move.

"I said where's Ben, _dammit_?"

There was no easy way to put it. "He's dead, Dean, and we will be too if we don't move."

"You left him behind?" Dean's face contorted in a mixture of anger and despair. "We can't…"

"Dean, remember what the soldier back in the woods said? If we stop Dick getting the toxin then everything changes. The team won't need to be sent back, ergo they won't die here. _We_ _will_ if we don't move. _NOW!"_

Sam yanked on his brother's arm, but Dean seemed almost oblivious to what was going to happen. It was like Ben's death had tipped him over the edge of some huge precipice and he was dangling there, not caring whether he fell into the abyss below or not.

Sam pulled again, not willing to let his brother give in. "Dean…"

Dean grudgingly moved, running alongside Sam until a glaring sign on the wall announced that motor pool "B" was ahead.

_**Warning – facility self destruct sequence initiated. Four minutes twenty-five seconds…**_

Dean looked up at the hidden speaker. "Jeez, thank you Big Ben."

_**Warning… **_

"Sounds like the freakin' _Lost in Space_ robot or what."

Sam skidded to a halt beside a Ford painted in Airforce blue. He looked inside. No keys. He slammed a hand on the roof so hard it hurt.

Dean ignored him and moved along to a canvas topped truck. The odds said there would be no keys in any vehicle, and yet, swinging as if it had just been placed was a keychain.

"Sam, here!"

Dean jumped inside and cranked the motor. Black smoke puffed from the truck's stack and it roared into life.

Sam jumped in alongside him and then Dean floored the gas. "What are the odds, huh?" He asked as they sped through another long, sparsely lit tunnel.

"Everyone was in a hurry," Sam concluded. "Lucky for us someone made a mistake and left the keys in."

Dean didn't look convinced. "Yeah, right, _whatever…"_

Before Sam could debate more, a low rumble filled the mountain and the ground beneath the truck began to quake.

Dean pumped the accelerator, but the vehicle just wasn't made for speed. It was giving all it had and more already.

Bricks and concrete started to erupt from the walls around them, followed by steel framework, and it was all Sam could do not to be jarred from his seat.

"We're not gonna make it," Sam mumbled as he saw just how small the exit still looked in the distance. "We're _so_ not gonna make it…"

"Dude, no mountain is gonna fall on my head until I say so, okay?" Dean was grinding his teeth, he was so focused on the growing pinpoint of light that was their way out. "'Cause lemme tell you, I got unfinished business with Mr. Dick Roman and no explosion is about to stop me."

Sam knew his brother meant it.

If Dean had been incensed by Bobby's death, then Ben's had pushed him over the ledge of sanity.

Sam knew, because he'd seen his brother there before.

One way or another, Dean would see that Roman went down for all he'd done, and Dean had no intention of waiting another twenty years for it to happen.

Debris fell on the truck's canopy, tearing at the canvas and denting the metal cab's roof, but it roared on.

A chunk of concrete slammed into the windshield, shattering it into a spider's web.

Sam grabbed a rifle and used the butt to smash out the safety glass altogether.

The road in front of them appeared to buck and yaw as the explosion continued to tear through the complex causing a rippling effect like a tidal wave through the mountain's very heart.

It was like being at the center of an earthquake.

Sam saw Dean's grasp of the steering wheel grow tighter and tighter until it looked like the flesh on his knuckles would burst.

And then, abruptly they were free.

The dark suppression of being underground replaced by brilliant sunlight.

Around them, an area had been cordoned off allowing personnel to wait at a safe distance. There was a gatehouse, and a guard still, but Dean paid them no heed.

He kept the gas floored and simply demolished the barricade, metal flying over the cab in a chewed up mess as he tore down the mountain road to freedom.

A spatter of gunfire followed them briefly as a shocked MP fired on the truck, but he was soon a distant memory, along with everything now buried deep beneath the Rockies.

"We need to get out ofColorado and fast. Maybe lie low for awhile," Sam suggested. "I mean, we probably just made ourselves terrorists along with everything else we've ever been accused of."

But Dean shook his head. "No," he simply said. "There's something else I need to do first…"

…

_**Buckskin Joe**_

_**Frontier Ghost Town**_

_**Dusk…**_

Once clear of the complex, the escape from the mountain had been almost too easy. Sam had expected to be stopped at every intersection, crossroad or street corner, but Cheyenne's demise had apparently taken the powers that be even more by surprise than 9/11.

The brothers had picked up their car after depositing the female in the trunk safely by the roadside, and then they'd swapped into yet another vehicle closer to Colorado Springs.

Sam had wanted to hot foot it across the border as soon as possible after that, but Dean had been unshakable.

The elder Winchester had insisted they return to the mountains where they had first encountered Ben and his doomed colleagues.

Sam and Dean had then spent the best part of a day returning to search for the soldiers' bodies. The point of the exercise hadn't been lost on Sam.

Dean was hoping _not_ to find any evidence of the patrol at all. No half bear man, no soldier melted into a tree, and no gooey lumps on the forest floor that had once been supply crates.

To Sam's relief, that was exactly what they'd discovered - a big fat zilch.

And yet, Dean had still refused to escape before the army search parties found them.

Instead, he had driven out to Buckskin Joe and to the cemetery there where the gig had originally started.

Now, the hunter was hammering a crudely made cross into the ground that didn't appear out of place with all the aging grave markers from western days. The cross bore three names, Cpt. Ben Braeden, Sgt. McCall and Pt. Cole.

"You know," Sam offered quietly, "the fact that we didn't find anything out there means the kid was right. We _changed_ history, Dean. They didn't die here now."

Dean finished the rough memorial. "Yeah, well they died in one timeline to save another," he grunted. "Somebody, somewhere needs to honor that sacrifice, or what's it all for?"

He looked down long and hard at the cross, taking a moment's silence out of respect.

Sam did the same, knowing what his brother was still going through.

Ben and the soldiers might have made it, but so many of their friends and family had not. "He remembered you, Dean, in those last moments back in the mountain," Sam eventually offered. "He wanted you to know he thought you were a great dad."

Dean smirked at that. "I wasn't great, I was kickass."

"Dean…"

"Yeah, I get it, Sam. Life goes on, I need to stop moping yadda yadda." He picked up the foldaway shovel he'd whacked the cross into place with and began walking back to the car.

Sam followed, choosing his words carefully. "You need to let Bobby go too, Dean."

Dean popped the trunk, stowed the shovel and then stared at Sam for the longest moment. "I know this is kinda hard for you to get your head around, but Bobby saved my ass back there_ twice_. Maybe even three times." He rubbed at the bump on his forehead unconsciously.

"You must have been hit by a stray piece of concrete or brick when the Leviathans bullets smashed into the walls. And the keys in the truck…in all the confusion _anyone_ could have left those behind."

"Sam, someone hit me over the damn head with a gun butt, I swear. And if they hadn't, I would have been dog chow two seconds later when those freaky Leviathan filled that tunnel with lead."

Dean was exasperated, but he didn't seem as emotional as before.

And that scared Sam.

Was his brother imagining Bobby one step closer to a complete emotional breakdown?

"Dean, _he died _in front of us!"

"Yeah, well whose been drinking my beer the last few weeks?"

"_What?"_ Sam gaped.

"_My beer_," Dean said matter-of-factly. "Every time I put a full bottle down to take a leak, or maybe work on some intel, the next thing I know its empty."

"You're drinking it without thinking."

"Once or twice, maybe I could have," Dean admitted. "But_ twelve_ times? I counted Sammy. Twelve bottles, all drained."

"A drunken ghost?" Sam was close to giving in, but he tried to rationalize things one last time. "Man, why would Bobby come back, just to drink your beer? Don't you think he'd have a little more to say?"

Dean grew quiet. "Maybe he hasn't got the hang of it yet."

Sam shook his head and attempted a new tactic. "So you realize if you're right, we'd only have to hunt him down and salt and burn him? 'Cause, you know as well as I do that spirits all turn bitter and twisted in the end, no matter what their original reasons for turning down the reaper were."

"Maybe, maybe not…" Dean's answer was quiet and distracted, like he was only half hearing what his brother was saying. "Take a look…"

It was then Sam realized that Dean wasn't looking at him anymore, but back at the cemetery.

Back under the trees were they'd stood moments earlier, a low mist had formed in the waning evening light.

And in the mist, stood a lone woman wearing a veil with a beautiful bunch of flowers in her hands.

As the brothers watched, the spirit of Silver Heels floated over to the cross Dean had recently placed.

She appeared to stoop and read the words Dean had carved into the wood, and then, silently she placed her bouquet, giving her respects to the newly fallen.

"Rock salt?" Sam suggested, reaching to open the trunk up.

Dean placed a hand on his brother's arm. "Why, Sammy? She's been out here over a hundred years and she's not tried to freak any locals or attack any tourists. She just brings flowers. If this chick turns rabid, we come back and gank her ass, but for know I say we let her alone."

Sam considered it. "Okay, it's your call. So can we just hit the road now?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, let's leave the dead in peace for once." He grabbed the car door handle, opened it up and slid inside.

Sam moved to do the same, but as he turned his back on Silver Heels and the forest, he caught the distinct odour of cheap whiskey and musty old engine oil.

_Like in a salvage yard… _

Sam whirled back around, but the light had quickly faded and now not even Silver Heels remained to be seen.

Sam smiled anyway, finally getting the same tingling feeling he suspected Dean had had for weeks.

Whether the hunter's helpful spirit was real, or just a figment of their imaginations, it was good to have the old fart around again.

"It's good to have you back, Bobby," Sam finally admitted in a whisper.

Then the hunter climbed into the car and the crumbling Ford spewed a dust trail into the distance, unaware of the shadowy ethereal figure that watched from the old cemetery, his baseball cap pulled low and his fuzzy little beard twitching.

"See ya around, ya idjits…"

The End


End file.
